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4 


THE 

PROFESSOR’S DAUGHTER 



The PROFESSOR’S 
DAUGHTER. 

ANNA FARQIJHAR 

.1 i- 

1 V 



NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 
1899 

L- 


*'? 




T'l-'t 
. PiA- ^ 3 p 





THE PROFESSOR’S DAUGHTER 


FIRST CHAPTER. 

On East Twenty-first Street, in the city of New 
York, there stands a house which several years ago 
had evidently ceased to care for personal appear- 
ances. Even at that time, like the middle-aged 
woman who has done the same thing, it was becom- 
ing unattractive. An unostentatious sign, almost 
hidden by the ivy that framed the front windows 
of this house, read, “ Dr. Everett Layton ” — noth- 
ing more. No mention was made of which branch 
of his profession the physician practised. 

At a glance it was impossible to say whether 
the practitioner, through professional despair, had 
given up blowing his own trumpet, or whether an 
assured position had rendered such vocalization 
unnecessary ; but visitors to that part of the city, 
born with their eyes open, would be assured dur- 
ing the doctor’s office hours that success had 
walked his way, judging from the number of rings 
at the door-bell and the worldly position of the 
equipages driven up and down in front of the 
house, in waiting. It was evident that money 
sought the doctor without his seeking it. 

One morning at about eleven o’clock, the office, 
5 


6 


The Professor’s Daughter 

a room converted from a once gaudily decorated 
parlor into a reception-room for patients, was filled 
with people waiting their turn for consultation. 
The silence peculiar to such an office was all about. 
Impatience, expectancy, nervousness, and fear 
composed its elements. 

Some of the waiting patients read papers or 
periodicals placed at their disposal on a large 
centre table ; others stared out of the windows re- 
signedly ; several sat with closed eyes behind dark 
glasses ; one wore a shade ; only two were cheer- 
ful when they entered — a mother and daughter of 
the gay world, whose hopes did not seem to hang 
upon a diagnosis, and even they ceased to chatter 
after a few moments. Presently a bell rang, and 
the young girl who attended the door came into 
the room. Indicating a small, tired-looking man, 
she said, “ It’s your turn next, sir.” 

A strong, abrupt, masculine voice was heard 
saying in the hall, “ You’ll be all right, Mrs. Ban- 
nock. I assure you the black spots mean indiges- 
tion — nothing more. No more midnight suppers, 
early to bed and late to rise for a while, and the 
spots will turn white. Good morning. Been rest- 
ing! Do you call a summer at Newport resting.^ 
Spend October and the rest of September at your 
town house, and you’ll be saved from your friends. 
Nobody will disturb you so early in the season. 
Good morning.” 

“Jenny, who is next.? ” 

“ Mr. Furgason, Doctor.” 

“ Send him in.” And the Doctor’s quick, firm 


The Professor’s Daughter 


7 


step receded down the hall, followed by the tired- 
looking man. All was still again in the office ex- 
cepting an occasional impatient tap of a foot, the 
rustle of a skirt, the sound caused by a change of 
attitude, until the front door-bell rang again and a 
woman was admitted. She moved quietly to the 
chair vacated by the last patient gone in for con- 
sultation, took the seat, gave one indifferent glance 
at the room and its occupants, then began to read 
a book she carried under her arm. The others 
looked at her longer, but there was nothing about 
her to watch with special interest, so she was soon 
forgotten as far as they were concerned. 

She was the kind of woman who would never at- 
tract general attention. Her face in repose seemed 
cold and indifferent in its nearly classic outline. 
Intelligence and refinement were the native expres- 
sions. The eyes that occasionally glanced up from 
the book were a steady gray, with a calm, unworldly 
light in them suggestive of vespers and approach- 
ing twilight on a clear day. The mouth was more 
human, but even so it did not speak of a capacity 
for laughter. She was dressed in clothes that in- 
dicated closer acquaintance with the living world, 
its foibles and conventionalities, than did her 
face. Evidently she lived in a world to which, 
by virtue of her higher instincts, she did not be- 
long. 

Again the Doctor’s voice was heard at a distance, 
saying : “ Bear up, Furgason. Face the truth, and 
ril see what I can do.” 

“Isn’t there a ray of hope, Doctor.^” the man 


8 The Professor’s Daughter 

asked, as they walked together toward the front 
door. 

“I can't see it if there is,” came the reply. 
“You journalists are fools the way you strain 
your eyes — your one stock in trade besides your 
brains. Come back to-night out of hours and 
we’ll talk it over when I have time. Bear up, old 
man ; there’s always something to do in the world.” 
Just then they passed the door leading into the 
waiting-room, and the latest arrival, glancing up, 
saw the man, Furgason, hold out his hand to 
Doctor Layton in silent despair. The men stood 
with clasped hands a moment, then the condemned 
went out, and the Doctor hurried back to his con- 
sulting-room, evidently much disturbed by the re- 
cent interview. 

One after another the patients answered the call 
of the bell, returning in added depression of spir- 
its, or relief. Fully an hour elapsed before the 
late comer was called; but she sat quietly reading, 
as though it were her habit to wait, or her habit 
to control impatience. When she finally went 
into the consulting-room. Doctor Layton was stand- 
ing by a window with his back toward the door, 
looking out in a fatigued, abstracted way. 

What she saw of him as she entered was the 
broad, square-shouldered back of a man beyond 
early youth, and whose dark hair showed a few 
threads of white amid its masses. Doctor Layton 
had a great deal of hair, as he had in the same 
quantity everything else he possessed. Even his 
back spoke of abundance of strength, vitality, and 


The Professor’s Daughter 


9 


nervous force, though at the present moment there 
was in his attitude what people seldom saw, if he 
felt it — fatigue. As he turned to greet the pa- 
tient, his deep blue eyes lost the look of exhausted 
sympathy, changing to an expression of smiling 
hospitality. 

“Miss Fremont, if I am not mistaken.?” he 
said. “ It has been years since I saw you last ! 
I hope nothing serious brings you to me now.” 

“That is for you to decide. Doctor Layton,” 
Miss Fremont returned, in a gravely agreeable 
way. “ For months my vision has seemed to be 
growing dim ; the tendency has been to rub away 
a mist, but rubbing does no good.” 

“ Indeed ! Take this seat and let us see about 
it,” he replied, indicating a large stationary chair, 
and absently rubbing some dust off it with his 
handkerchief as she removed her hat and veil. 
He made the examination, his face assuming the 
while a more serious expression than that usual 
to the requirements of the professional manner. 

“Is there much the matter. Doctor.?” asked 
Miss Fremont quietly. 

“ I don’t make a diagnosis in a moment,” he re- 
plied abruptly. “ Turn your head this way a little.” 

Silence again; then quickly, as he did every- 
thing, he asked, “ How much have you been using 
your eyes .? ” 

“Not more than five hours a day of late,” she 
replied. 

“ Uh ! What were you doing.? ” 

“ Reading and making notes for my father.” 


lo The Professor’s Daughter 

You have been in Europe for some time, 
haven’t you ? ” 

Yes, for two years; most of the time in Italy 
and Greece, where my father has been collecting 
material for a History of Myths that he is com- 
piling.” 

** He is compiling and you are doing the writ- 
ing, I suppose ? ” 

“No; I have only done some of the mechanical 
work for him ; that is all. ” 

“Miss Fremont, before I give a professional 
opinion, it is necessary for me to know something 
of my patient and her habits. I met you a few 
times socially five or six years ago, then lost track 
of you. I remember talking to you once through 
a dinner at your cousin’s, Mrs. Hastings, when 
you told me how beautiful the earth would be to 
you if there were no people in it, forgetting that 
I was a person, and th^ you quoted something to 
the effect that ‘ only man is vile.’ 

“ I have always remembered that speech. Now 
I must ask you to tell me something of your life 
and pedigree, so that I may construct a sequence 
of causes, hereditary or otherwise, leading to an 
effect.” 

“There is little to tell. Doctor. My life has 
been uneventful. My father is a New Englander, 
and went West as professor of history in a West- 
ern college soon after he graduated. There he 
married my mother, the daughter of a senior pro- 
fessor. Mother died when I was four years old, 
and a maiden sister of father’s came and kept 


The Professor’s Daughter 1 1 

house for us. She, too, died when I was seven- 
teen and about to go to Vassar, for which college 
I had prepared. Her death necessitated my re- 
maining at home to keep house for father, which 
was a disappointment, I confess, as I was ambi- 
tious in those days for an education. 

Soon after, my Grandfather Fremont’s death 
made us independent of a professor’s small salary 
— father was his only son — so then we began to 
gratify our heart’s desires: travel for me and 
books for father, who never was an ambitious man. 
He is perfectly happy if you leave him alone with 
a book. I have to take his meals to him some- 
times, because he prefers reading to eating ; even 
then he will not eat unless I sit by him and make 
him. My mother’s name is the only thing that 
will rouse him when he loses himself entirely in 
mediaeval events. When you met us five or six 
years ago we had been for a long time in Jerusa- 
lem and Constantinople,*^'where father had gone 
for the purpose of comparing the life of Christ 
and Mohammed by means of local history and 
color. I remember I did feel exactly what I said 
to you after living amid thousands and thou- 
sands of human beings — and, in fact, do still. I 
must have quoted Reginald Heber — Though 
every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.’ ” 
She narrated her personal history in an impersonal 
way, as though it were not worth all the words she 
used. 

Doctor Layton sat looking at her as she talked. 
When she paused, he said : “ I expect the trouble 


12 The Professor’s Daughter 

with you is that you live among men without 
knowing them in the least, Miss Fremont.” 

“ Perhaps. Sometimes I have thought they did 
not show themselves to me at their best. Then I 
really know very few people. Father can’t talk 
anything but books and me, and I am weak in small 
talk myself. But to return. We lived here in 
an apartment for several years. My cousin, whom 
you know, is literary inside and fashionable out- 
side, consequently we were dragged about from 
place to place, until I was nearly worn out and 
father perfectly distracted. Finally, one cold day, 
I found him, books in hand, sitting out on the fire- 
escape, where he had fled when visitors arrived; 
so I just put a stop to it all by taking him back to 
Europe, where we have been ever since.” 

Miss Fremont paused again, smiling at the 
remembrance; and Doctor Layton, laughing in 
his bright, boyish way, took out a note-book and 
scribbled down : 

“Miss Louise Fremont: — Vitiated circulation 
by inheritance and habit extended to the eye.” 

Then said, as he added a few more words, “ Go 
on. ” 

“ There is no further to go. We are here now 
for the winter, I suppose. We began to feel some 
of what the Germans call Heimweh, and came 
home, landing two weeks ago. On the steamer 
crossing, a patient of yours, Mrs. James Eliot, 
recommended you as an eye specialist ; and remem- 
bering that I had met you long ago, I have come to 
you to know what that mist over my eyes means.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 13 

** Have you lived out-of-doors much at any time 
in your life? ” 

No ; very little since I was a child. Wherever 
we go we settle down in a boarding-house or pen- 
sion, and live most of the time in libraries, cathe- 
drals, and picture galleries — at least, I visit the 
latter; father seldom does nowadays. It is so 
fatiguing.” 

Rather a musty life, I should say. It smells 
of first editions and Elzevirs. Which do you like 
best, the sea or the mountains ? ” 

** Oh, the sea ! My feelings for places are not 
very warm-blooded, I fear, except for the ocean. 
For it I have as nearly a passion as I have ever felt. ” 
*‘That is a good beginning,” muttered the 
Doctor, tapping thoughtfully on the table. ** How 
old are you. Miss Fremont? ” 

Twenty-four,” she replied. 

This he put down in the book, too ; then stand- 
ing up in dismissal, he said : “ I am not prepared 
to give an immediate opinion. This much I will 
say, and insist upon — give your eyes absolute rest 
until a week from to-day; then come back to me.” 

But what will become of the History of Myths 
if I can’t help father ? ” she asked. 

Let it go to hades, along with the gods it 
treats of, and other useless individuals. Your 
eyes are of much more importance. I do not ask 
you to do this — I lay down the law. If necessary, 
I will tell you there is something radically wrong 
with your eyes. Now, will you do as I say. Miss 
Fremont? ” 


14 The Professor’s Daughter 


I suppose I must,” she replied, rising and pre- 
ceding him down the hall. week from to- 

day ? One week is not much to take from father, 
but I hardly know what he will think. He could 
not understand my being ill, or incapacitated for 
work. I haven’t been confined to my bed for 
years. ” 

You mean you haven’t stayed in bed when you 
ought to have done so,” he replied. 

“ Perhaps, once or twice,” she confessed. 

Layton opened the front door for her himself, 
holding out his hand in farewell as he said : “ Good 
morning. I wish there was some one to look after 
you. Be good to yourself, if only for the sake of 
my reputation. I can’t diagnose refractory cases 
successfully. ” 

“ I’ll try,” she replied, looking up at him. 
“ Good morning, Doctor Layton.” 

“ Caesar’s ghost ! ” he exclaimed mentally, after 
closing the door. “ I have found a curiosity — a 
woman of bones, covered with spirit instead of 
flesh. She doesn’t know how to feel. I wonder 
if she is happy, or if she is even contented ! ” 


SECOND CHAPTER 


Every man knows his own New York. Every 
great city is to the individual as he happens to 
encounter one of its many sides. Below Four- 
teenth Street and east of Broadway there is a New 
York almost unknown to transient visitors and to 
a large majority of the people whose names fill the 
directory of that city. It is not the Bohemian 
side; not the side of faded aristocracy, nor the 
home of the genteel poor. This place might be 
called a retreat for the tired,” but it is not. A 
stray wanderer through its limited extent would 
naturally look for a churchyard as a fitting back- 
ground to its solemn repose, or see in imagination 
a mediaeval church without the yard, as in similar 
localities in London. But no. This spot makes 
its own local color, unaided either by signs of time 
or eternity. 

In the heart of it stands a building which by 
courtesy is called a hotel, though not labelled so, 
and whose only real claim to that nomenclature 
rests upon the fact that the proprietors are invisi- 
ble to guests, who are received by a maid in Eng- 
lish servant costume. This woman, with quiet, 
well-trained manners, assumes the place of a clerk, 
albeit escorting you to your room herself. Under 
her command works a corps of similar women. 


1 6 The Professor’s Daughter 

There are no serving-men on the premises. Be- 
hind this well-greased machinery stand two ladies 
who are proud of their grandfather, who left them, 
many years ago, nothing but a capacity to provide 
for themselves in this way a living, which, according 
to hearsay, has grown fat with years. Six long din- 
ing-tables each seat a dozen people, most of whom 
are what the world calls characters,” because each 
has chosen some road of life not of conventional pat- 
tern, retaining the while an immaculate virtue and 
love of respectability. Louise Fremont had been 
put on the track of this quiet place over in Paris 
by a maiden lady, who travelled with a companion 
when in Europe, and wrote unpublished magazine 
poetry and attended club meetings when in 
America. 

She admitted to Louise that the best lessons in 
patience and perseverance she had ever received 
came to her by sending out her verses to magazine 
editors. 

Owing to this lady’s advice in the matter. Miss 
Fremont had brought her father to The Salvadore, 
and settled him for the winter in cosy rooms with 
grate fires, and his books, which, with the excep- 
tion of his literary Lares and Penates, had been 
stored during their residence abroad. Miss Fre- 
mont walked directly to The Salvadore from her 
interview with Doctor Layton. Before removing 
her hat, she rapped on her father’s door. Receiv- 
ing no answer, she knocked more loudly; then, 
after waiting vainly for some answering call, she 
entered, only to find him, as she expected, sitting 


The Professor's Daughter 17 

by a writing-table, buried in a dissertation upon 
the erstwhile sacred person of Riibezahl, over 
which he had been poring when she left the hotel 
several hours previous. 

Professor Fremont was picturesque as he sat 
there, typifying the scholastic ascetic, whose mind 
has never grasped more of eternity than the past, 
whose importance is only as the germ to the dis- 
ease. Although a man of but fifty-odd years, he 
had from youth lived on the wrong side of old 
age, thus encouraging time to ride roughshod over 
his body. His hair was white and thin, as was 
his face, only saved from a pinched look by the 
tender, kindly lines about the mouth and the con- 
fiding expression of the faded gray eyes, which 
could twinkle like a boy’s upon the rare occasions 
when he saw a joke. Tiny wads of paper were 
scattered all around his chair on the floor, the 
result of a nervous habit of tearing off small pieces 
of paper and rolling them into these wads between 
the thumb and fingers of his left hand whenever 
he was at work. His daughter called softly, 
“ Father, it is time for lunch,” but she proved 
an unsuccessful rival to Riibezahl. He read on, 
oblivious of her presence, rolling the bit of paper 
in his hand back and forth in regular time. She 
called again, without better results ; then, leaning 
down close to his face, said gently, in the lowest 
pitch of her voice, Professor Tom ! I want you, 
dear,” at which he started slightly, answering, 
“ Yes, Mary love. I’m coming — coming in one 
moment.” Miss Fremont repeated the words, and 


1 8 The Professor’s Daughter 

then he looked up, saying, Oh, it’s you, Louie ! 
When did you come in ? ” 

“Are you ready for lunch, father? Shall we 
go down before I tell you what the Doctor said, 
or afterward ? ” 

“ If you are willing. I’ll wash this dust of 
Riibezahl off my hands before we go down. Oh, 
yes — the Doctor ! I do not quite recollect what 
you went to see him for, Louie ; my health is in 
most excellent condition.” 

“ It was not about you this time, father. I 
went to see an eye specialist. Don’t you remem- 
ber I told you about that film I feel across my 
eyes sometimes ? I went to see about it.” 

“ Yes, yes — of course. I’ve no doubt you use 
them too much, daughter. I have told you how 
pernicious I hold those fine embroideries and 
stitchings women do to be for the eyes, and you 
write so much for me, besides.” Miss Fremont 
only smiled, and answered: “They bother me a 
great deal, so I consulted Doctor Layton, a spe- 
cialist here. He says I must rest them entirely 
for a week, then go back for another examination.” 

The Professor, who by this time had washed his 
hands in his bedroom adjoining, came back drying 
them on a clean towel (he was immaculate about 
his person), saying the while, “ Repeat that, 
Louie. I hardly think I grasped the idea.” She 
told him again. He dropped the towel on the 
floor, and, looking at her as though puzzled, asked 
in surprise: “How is that? You are so strong 
and well ! so very vital ! Perhaps he has made a 


The Professor’s Daughter 19 

mistake. Do not be alarmed.” Then, as though 
suddenly recollecting : “ How can we stop work 
this week, Louie.? Those notes on Riibezahl 
must be copied out or I shall not be ready for the 
next chapter in the book. Can’t you wait until 
next week .? ” 

“ I am afraid not, father. The Doctor was im- 
perative in his commands. He fears there is 
something serious the matter, you know.” 

“ Serious ! Something serious the matter with 
my little girl! We must not allow that! Of 
course we will rest. We will take a turn in the 
park every day, and only write an hour or two.” 
He patted her several times on the cheek, saying : 
“ You grow more like Mary every day. Few men 
were ever blessed with such a wife and daughter.” 
Miss Fremont took the delicate hand in her own, 
passing his arm around her neck, and as she leaned 
against the slightly stooping shoulders, she said : 
“ It must be beautiful to be loved as you loved 
mother. I wonder how women feel when they are 
the one and only thing on earth to a man they love.” 

“Why, dearie, don’t you know.? Surely you 
are the only thing to me.” 

“Yes, the only human thing, but the books 
come first,” she replied, with an unconscious plaint 
in her voice. “ Mother came before the books. ” 

“ Come, come, Louie. Don’t be jealous of the 
books. You are everything to me — you are all I 
have except in remembrance. ” 

“And you are all I have in any way, father 
dear. But come, we must not be love-making 


20 The Professor’s Daughter 

while lunch and the ladies await you. You are a 
dangerous man with the ladies. I have my eye 
on that widow who sits next you, and if she smiles 
once too often at your bon mots I’ll take you back 
to Italy.” 

** And how about the Italian chevalier who asked 
for your hand, declaring it to be the summit of his 
heart's ambition to kindle a fire beneath the heart 
of The Lady of the Snows — his Edelweiss.^ 
Would we not be jumping from the frying-pan 
into the fire.? — to use a homely expression.” 

“ Now, father, I told you never to speak of him 
again. He thought we were rich. Get ready 
instantly. The widow and the chevalier will keep, 
but lunch is fleeting.” She mechanically picked 
up the towel he had dropped, returned it to its 
proper place, and they went downstairs together. 
The Professor had no idea that towels or handker- 
chiefs belonged any place in particular but in the 
hands, the coat-tail pocket, or on the floor. One 
evening at a dinner in Rome, Miss Fremont saw 
her father offer his arm to the lady he was to take 
in ; and as he bent over his dinner partner with his 
courtly, old-fashioned manner. Miss Fremont saw 
the red border of a towel hanging from the tail 
pocket of his dress coat. She was in the habit of 
carrying an extra handkerchief of his with her, in 
view of such situations, so she crossed over and 
handed him one, knowing that he would not take 
out the towel as long as his hand or lap was filled 
with linen. Out of working hours the Professor 
did not shun mankind, and especially not woman- 


The Professor’s Daughter 


21 


kind, unless they were of the particularly gay 
world, whose language did not hold his attention. 
He was apt to be absent-minded, but always gal- 
lant in manner when not dreaming, and he pos- 
sessed a quiet humor which among people invari- 
ably made him the centre of a group of young 
girls, who pronounced him “ an old dear.” 

At the Fremonts’ table sat a middle-aged woman 
who read manuscript for a publishing house and 
did some editorial work ; a bachelor of the legal 
fraternity, who had boarded at The Eldorado for 
twenty years and never missed a meal there during 
the winter season ; an Episcopalian clergyman, who 
had left his fold in search of city missionary work, 
and his wife with their two children; a retired 
navy officer, his wife and daughter; transients 
over from Washington for a week’s visit, and the 
widow whose smiles have been referred to, and 
whose occupation was uncertain, although her 
actions indicated that she was out on a matri- 
monial hunting expedition. 

The last-named sat at the left of the Professor, 
and had lost no time in making the best of pension 
privileges regarding table talk. As Professor and 
Miss Fremont seated themselves, the widow settled 
her eye-glasses, and after hastily swallowing some 
hot soup, remarked : '' A fine day. Professor Fre- 
mont. ” 

“Wonderful, no doubt, madam,” replied the 
Professor, bowing slightly in her direction. “I 
can only see it through your eyes, as I have not 
yet investigated for myself.” 


22 


The Professor’s Daughter 


Your literary work demands much time, I pre- 
sume,” she continued. 

“ Yes, madam ; most of my day. But you apply 
too exalted a term to my humble occupations. 
‘ Literary ’ signifies a high degree of attainment 
in the world of letters, while I am but an histori- 
cal dabbler, with more ambition than results.” 

“Ah, Professor!” showing a good supply of 
teeth and a broad, fat smile. “ Your friends can- 
not permit you to underrate yourself. I am sure 
you are too modest about your work.” 

The Professor, having no memory for names, 
took refuge in addressing all women as madam, all 
men as sir. Now he replied : 

“ You are kindness itself, madam; but truth to 
tell, my daughter is the better workman of the 
two, and unfortunately she must take a little vaca- 
tion, owing to some trouble with her eyes — only 
temporary — consequently this next week our work 
will stand still. My daughter has just returned 
from an interview with an oculist. What did you 
say his name is, Louie.? ” 

“ Dr. Everett Layton,” replied Miss Fremont 
discouragingly. 

“ Oh, yes. Doctor Layton. Have you ever 
heard of him as a practitioner, madam.? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed,” replied the widow. “ He 
is a man of considerable reputation. I am a 
distant cousin of his late wife. It’s a pity he’s 
not as good in other ways as he is in his pro- 
fession.” 

“ Indeed, yes I Just so,” said Professor Fre- 


The Professor’s Daughter 


23 


mont, coughing slightly, and looking nervous. 
Gossip he considered the language of Satan, which 
he could understand, but not speak. 

“ Yes,” she continued, “ I have my opinion, and 
so has the world, of the way he treated his wife 
before she died. I look upon it as a case of actual 
murder. ” 

“ How very alarming ! ” exclaimed the Pro- 
fessor. Miss Fremont, leaning around her father, 
asked : “ Do I understand you to say Doctor Lay- 
ton’s wife is dead 

“ Yes. Hadn’t you heard that ? She died four 
years ago from neglect, and nothing else. Men 
who spend all their time at the club, and in doing 
what club-men do, ought to be answerable to the 
law for the unhappiness and premature death of 
their wives. ” 

Does a club-man’s wife necessarily die early ? ” 
asked Miss Fremont, with the thread of sarcasm 
in her tone that had incensed many people. 

“ Most of them want to if they don’t,” replied 
the widow snappishly. “ Mabel Layton was a 
wretchedly unhappy woman. She was proud, and 
went constantly into society just to show that she 
didn’t care a bit what he did. ” 

Perhaps if she had stayed at home more he 
might have done the same thing,” said Miss Fre- 
mont; then modifying her tone, she continued: 
‘‘ I beg your pardon ; I know nothing of the cir- 
cumstances, having had but slight acquaintance 
with Doctor Layton and his wife.” 

Well, I know enough for a good many people. 


24 


The Professor’s Daughter 

Since her death he has been dropped by their set 
entirely, and I hope he feels it. ” 

“Dear me! That is too bad,” interposed the 
Professor mildly., “ But no doubt that does not 
interfere with his professional progress. I find 
that society is very much in the way of good 
work. Do you have time for it, madam ” And 
the Professor delicately led the widow off the 
obnoxious ground, while his daughter smiled at 
his speaking with authority about society and its 
effect. 

When the Fremonts went upstairs again to their 
library sitting-room. Miss Fremont remarked : “ I 
suppose I was rude to your neighbor, father, but I 
can’t bear that kind of a woman at any time, and 
she seemed to attack Doctor Layton with personal 
malice. Perhaps what she said was true about 
his being a fast club-man. Cousin Helen told us 
that about him when we were here that winter ; 
but I don’t believe any man who could speak to 
another as I heard him speak to a patient who is 
going blind can be depraved.” 

“That the elements of good and evil in each 
human being balance those same elements in every 
other human being, we must remember, Louie. 
This man errs in one direction, that in another, 
some one else in another — and so it goes. Every 
being is more accountable for his motives than for 
his actions. The progress toward the spiritual life 
is slow, but certain; however, progress moves 
in the mass, not through the individual. Men 
who have been the chief instruments in the 


The Professor’s Daughter 


25 


progress of the world have been weak in the 
flesh — often unvirtuous men. Universal love 
will bring universal salvation — no man is en- 
tirely depraved.” 

I wish I believed that easy creed, father ; but 
you know I have no sympathy with the privileged 
sinner.” 

** Learn to pity the weak — not to judge them 
harshly, dear. The world knows not any man’s 
heart, my daughter, nor his temptations. But we 
must set to work; my little sermon is finished. 
The notes I made this morning are on the 
desk.” 

You forget that I am not to use my eyes for 
a week, father,” said Miss Fremont, looking almost 
ashamed of the fact. 

“To be sure ! My memory is so abbreviated ! 
I seem to put a period after every thought ! Then 
shall we walk out a little before I resume my 
reading .? ” 

The tall, spare man strolled up the avenue, 
taking his daughter’s arm as they crossed Broad- 
way and Fourteenth Street, for he never felt safe 
on crowded streets, nor would she permit him to 
wander about alone, for fear the company of some 
historical character would obscure his vision of 
a surface car, dray, or cab, and some accident 


occur. 


THIRD CHAPTER 


At the expiration of the week, Louise Fremont 
went again to Doctor Layton’s office. After 
another examination, the Doctor said quickly: 
“ Would your father be willing to leave town at 
once, Miss Fremont ? ” 

I don’t know. I’m sure. Why should he.?” 
she replied. 

** I wish you to live out-of-doors for a month or 
so, and stir up your blood.” 

“Is it drying up?” she asked, looking at him 
with growing curiosity. 

“ It is already dried up, I should say. You 
must live on the human side of life a while ; then 
we will see what the circulation will do.” 

“ But what has all of this to do with my eyes. 
Doctor? ” 

“ Everything.” 

“ What is the matter with them ? ” 

Doctor Layton, in his rapid way, turned around 
toward his table. He picked up an instrument 
and rubbed it absently with a piece of chamois- 
skin as he replied : “ I told you the other day that 
the only thing I can do slowly is to make a diag- 
nosis. I do not wish to alarm you, but I must 
say this much with decision — your symptoms are 
serious enough for me to insist upon the restorative 


The Professor’s Daughter 


27 


measures I suggest. If you are my patient, you 
must do what I say, or go to some one else for 
advice.'’ 

But, Doctor, you talk as though I had refused 
to do what you say. I haven’t. I don’t even 
know yet what you have to say. Do you mean 
that I must wear glasses } I dislike the idea very 
much ; but if it is necessary, I must do it — that is 
all.” 

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean that I want 
you to give up using your eyes at close range 
for some time to come ; to go into the country 
and live out-of-doors in hope of restoring normal 
local conditions by an improved general condi- 
tion.” 

“ Couldn’t you do something for me by treat- 
ment in town ? We are all settled for the winter, 
and I am tired to death of wandering about.” 

“ There ! My diagnosis of your mind was right, 
anyway. You like your way in small things; but 
I tell you this is not a small thing — it is a big 
thing, and I can do nothing for you at present but 
give you this advice.” 

“Why don’t you tell me what is the matter.^ ” 
asked Louise, stiffly rising from the seat and put- 
ting on one glove. 

“ Because medical terms mean nothing to 
patients. I repeat that the conditions are serious 
as they stand now. All that I ask of you is to go 
to the seashore as an experiment. You say you 
love it ; I can recommend a place that would just 
suit my purpose, because the air there is like 


28 


The Professor’s Daughter 


champagne, and there would be no people but the 
natural kind to interfere with my cure.” 

“Where is it.^” asked Miss Fremont, whose 
gentleness of manner never fully concealed a life’s 
habit of governing herself more graciously than 
accepting government from outside influence. 

“ It is a remote place on the Rhode Island coast 
called Weecapaug. During the summer a few 
artists, writers, and quiet domestic families live 
there in modest cottages — some of them old farm- 
houses ; but at this time of year no one is there 
but the native farmers and their families. For 
miles along the beach, farmers own land down 
to the line of high tide. My ancestors on my 
mother’s side came from that vicinity. That is 
why I know everything about the place. There 
is an old maid there. Miss Melissa Stillman, who 
lives alone, except for her hired help, a distant 
cousin older than herself, and as deaf as a post. 
Melissa has a large farm adjoining one owned by 
her married brother, who works her place and his 
own. Occasionally she has taken some of my 
patients to board, for she and I are great friends. 
They have always found the living comfortable in 
a primitive way, as I am sure you would. Let me 
see, what else can I tell you to interest you in 
the place ? Oh, yes ! Women like old burying- 
grounds, spooks, supernatural lights, and romantic 
fishermen, don’t they.^^ Weecapaug has all of 
these in abundance except the fishermen, of which 
there is only one ; but he is a rare soul — enough to 
make up for a dozen ordinary ones. Now will you ** 


The Professor’s Daughter 29 

go ?” — and he laughed like a boy who has suc- 
ceeded in making his little sister creep and squirm 
with a ** scare story. ” 

Louise sat listening indifferently until he 
laughed — a sound no mortal was ever known to 
resist coming from him. Then her lips relaxed 
into the beginning of a smile, and she asked : 

Do you manage all of your patients by laugh- 
ing at them, Doctor Layton.? ” 

“ Better than scolding, isn’t it ? Say you will 
go, just for the sake of the spooks. I have an 
idea! Your father might find historical and 
mythical matter galore down there. The Indians 
have left their charms in the earth, along with 
their bones, to be turned up by the ploughs, and 
the personality of the old Narragansett tribe is in 
every reminiscence of the elderly natives. ” 

“That might interest father! Don’t you see. 
Doctor Layton, how difficult it would be for him 
to work alone, or be interested in anything with- 
out me ? I am all he has, and our habits are as 
confirmed as two old maids. I tell him we are the 
personification, masculine and feminine, of the 
Cranford type. But I am keeping you from your 
patients. There are half a dozen waiting.” 

“ Let them wait ; they are used to it. I should 
like to meet your father again. Bring him in, and 
I will persuade him to go at once.” 

“ That is not necessary, thank you. Whatever 
is best for me he considers best for him. He is a 
most unselfish man. I will think over your advice, 
and take it if I possibly can do so.” 


3 ° 


The Professor’s Daughter 


“That’s right, Miss Fremont. Meantime, I 
might write to Melissy asking her to take you 
both in.” 

“ You are very kind to take the trouble in your 
busy life, if you will. I shouldn’t — wonder^ — if — 
I — might — go,” she answered hesitatingly. 

Doctor Layton walked over to the window ; stand- 
ing there with his hands in his pockets, trying to 
conceal that he did not object to triumphs in small 
things himself, he went on: “You will never re- 
gret it if you go, for a more beautiful place of 
its kind than Weecapaug I have never seen on the 
Atlantic coast — nor on any coast, for that matter. 
Make your arrangements right away. I’ll mail 
the letter to-day ; by the end of the week a reply 
will reach us, and you can go the first of next.” 

“Are you always in a hurry yourself. Doctor.^ 
or is it only for other people you make haste 
Louise asked, moving slowly toward the door. 

“ Oh, yes ; I take my own medicine, and I fight 
by attack. I’ll mail you Miss Melissy’s reply; 
then will you be kind enough to let me know what 
you decide to do ” 

“ No wonder your patients sound your praises if 
you can find time for such kindness in every case.” 

“There are cases and cases, you know. Miss 
Fremont. Yours is calling out much study and 
interest from me. It is unusual. I’ll hope to 
hear from you, then. Good morning. Miss Fre- 
mont.” 

“ Good morning. Doctor Layton.” • 

Miss Fremont took her departure, and Doctor 


The Professor’s Daughter 31 

Layton, rubbing his hand over his forehead and 
eyes, said: ‘‘Who comes next, Jennie? Furgason 
again? Send him in.” 

Louise Fremont spent the remainder of the day 
in thinking over the prospect presented to her by 
the Doctor. Her habit was to weigh and analyze 
every idea she grasped ; but being of an impersonal 
turn of mind, things were of more interest to her 
than people, and her analytical weakness was led 
more by the study of others’ characters than by 
contemplation of her own. People interested her 
brain, not her heart. She thought out the effect 
such a change would have on her father, and de- 
cided it would be good for him, especially as he 
seemed much more easily fatigued of late than 
ever before. 

Then she tried her utmost to imagine how she 
could spend several weeks without reading or writ- 
ing. This thought was finally settled as an im- 
possibility for her, although she would make the 
attempt, because the Doctor must think something 
radically wrong with her sight or he would not 
have been so imperative, which word turned her 
thoughts upon the medical profession, forcing her 
to reconsider, because she knew that specialists of 
celebrity all rode hobbies and frightened patients 
into doing useless and absurd things; moreover, 
this specialist in particular had shown himself an 
arbitrary man, rather inclined to take things for 
granted. In considering this last point her mind 
dwelt on fiis personality, and she decided that his 
wife must have had a hard time of it living with 


32 


The Professor’s Daughter 


such a strong-willed man, who, by general report, 
had lived commonly, if not grossly, during her 
lifetime. 

“ Dear me ! ” she sighed, as she walked toward 
The Eldorado, “ I wonder if there is another man 
left on earth as good as father, or possessed of 
high purpose and loyalty. The trouble is,” she 
continued to think, “ that in our day there is no 
heroic movement to spur them on ; while Christi- 
anity was a living, emotional force, and women 
demanded the purity of chivalry, men acted — now 
they do nothing but think and talk without result.” 

That evening, a short time after dinner, as the 
Professor and his daughter reached the door of 
their own apartments, she locked her arm in his 
as she said : “ Father, I hope the fire is burning 
brightly, and that the big chair stands in front of 
it, ready for use, because I want you to let me sit 
as I used to when I was a little girl. I have some- 
thing particular to say to you, father. I want to 
talk it all out, as I heard a girl once say she was 
going to do with her mother.” 

“ My poor Louise,” said the Professor, touching 
her forehead lightly with his lips. “ Poor child, 
with no mother to talk to. I miss the evening 
time with my child. Why did we ever stop it } 
I remember how, as a tiny thing, you used to come 
to my knee as soon as the open fire blazed, and 
say, ‘ Pap, want up, ’ and I would take you up and 
tell you stories of mythical and historical heroes 
— far beyond your comprehension, no doubt — 
until you slept in my arms. Oh, Louise! that 


The Professor’s Daughter 


33 

was long ago, and I have selfishly neglected the 
feelings of my child, I expect, of late years, be- 
cause she seemed so self-sufficient — so far removed 
from the ordinary ways of woman ” 

“ Hush, father, do not blame yourself. You 
have not had time to think about little things, 
but ” 

‘‘That is the accepted excuse of the selfish, 
Louise,” he interrupted. Seating himself in the 
chair before the fire, he drew her to his knees and 
continued : “ Now tell me, dear, is anything dis- 
turbing you } Has the time come when a girl most 
of all times needs her mother — when she has made 
up her mind to take a mate for better or for 
worse.? ” 

“ No, no ! father — not that ! Did you think I 
was in love and meant to tell you about it .? No, 
indeed ; I don’t think I ever shall be that.” 

“ Why not you like other women, Louise .? The 
love passion is the greatest thing on earth — some- 
thing to be envied and dealt with seriously.” 

“ Probably my trouble is that I handle it too 
seriously — that I expect too much. When I find 
a man as good as you are, father. I’ll marry him, 
if he’ll have me, whether I feel any great love for 
him or not — if you are not still with me — but 
never before.” 

“ Never do that, my child. Love will come to 
you in good time. I have even thought you would 
be happier if your standard for people were lower 
— more within the possibilities of human nature. 
What is it you expect ? Perfection ? There is no 
3 


34 The Professor’s Daughter. 

such thing on earth. You are not perfect, are 
you } ” 

“ Of course not. But I cannot help seeing 
other people’s faults before I do their virtues, 
can I ? It’s my nature. Do you remember that 
young Professor we met at Athens ? I believe I 
would have cared for him had he not worn soiled 
linen and waited on himself at the table, without 
thinking about anybody else.” 

“He was greedy, I admit. I remember him on 
account of it, myself ; but he had many excellent 
qualities. Had you in truth experienced for him 
love, you would not have observed his peculiari- 
ties. Just think of it, dear! Your mother had 
many opportunities, yet she loved me and married 
me, whose faults are too numerous to be cata- 
logued. You have yet to learn the mystery of the 
feeling which says, ^ With all thy faults I love 
thee still.’ I can recall the time before we were 
married when I used to sit in a corner at your 
Grandfather Allison’s and listen to your dear 
mother sing a song to those words, while the 
students — my young rivals — clustered around her. 
She was the most beautiful creature in all the 
world to me, although I believe the people gener- 
ally thought her more charming of manner than 
beautiful of feature.” 

Louise sat silently in her father’s arms a few 
moments, while he softly smoothed her hair. She 
sighed deeply, and rested her head against his 
shoulder; then she said: “Father, this Doctor I 
have been to about my eyes says my blood is dried 


The Professor’s Daughter 35 

up. Do you suppose he means that literally or 
only metaphorically ? ” 

“ Well ! Well ! That is a unique statement to 
make, unless it has some specific intention. I 
cannot imagine his meaning.” 

He is a queer man, and says exactly what he 
pleases,” she remarked. 

“I hope he took no displeasing liberties of 
speech with my daughter,” said the Professor, sit- 
ting a trifle more stiffly in his chair. 

“ Oh, no ! Not that ! I mean he is very frank 
and outspoken, with a tendency to make people do 
his bidding.” 

** As long as he confines his commands to pro- 
fessional dictates, I see no harm in that, daughter,” 
replied the Professor in his soothing tone. 

** Of course that is all he does ; but I don’t like 
to be bossed, even by my physician. ” 

“ ‘ Bossed ’ is not altogether an elegant word, 
Louise; I never heard you use it before. How 
has he been bossing } ” 

Then she told him in detail of the recent in- 
terview. The Professor looked greatly alarmed 
when she quoted the phrase about the serious 
symptoms. 

“ Serious ! ” he exclaimed. ‘‘ How does he 
mean serious ? That is a portentous word, to be 
handled only with discretion.” 

“ You mustn’t take any doctor literally, father. 
He only said that because I hesitated about doing 
what he wanted me to do. I am rather tired all 
over. The life will do neither of us any harm, 


36 The Professor’s Daughter 


and may do me the good he counts on ; so if you 
are willing, we will go where he advises us.” 

“ Certainly, certainly, my child ! The book can 
wait — it is always of secondary importance to my 
child’s health. As you say, we may come across 
some valuable Indian lore. Let me see — there 
was a chief of the Narragansetts called Sosoa, if I 
do not mistake, whose life was of historical inter- 
est. Perhaps we can make notes on him — that is, 
I mean that I can do it. ” 

Oh, in a few weeks I’ll be as fine as a fiddle 
again, making more notes than you will ever 
use. My eyes are tired just as my whole body is. 
What people must suffer who go blind ! I’ll never 
forget the look on that man’s face in the Doctor’s 
office the other day. It was suicidal despair. I’m 
sure I would feel that way myself were I to lose 
my sight. I simply could not live were I deprived 
of the beauty of the world — its color, in particular. 
I heard a woman once say about me, ‘ Well, Mon- 
sieur Lingard, how did you endure that expression- 
less American through dinner ? ’ And she was 
right. I am expressionless. No matter how in- 
tensely I feel, I do not show much in my face. 
Something was left out of my composition, father. 
Why is it, do you suppose, that I never show my 
feelings in my face, as some girls do on all occa- 
sions ? ” 

Facial expression, I have always been given to 
understand, is caused by a flexible muscular action, 
which you have not in your face. I hardly believe, 
Louise, though I do not affirm this, that you do 


The Professor’s Daughter 


37 


possess as many shades of emotional life as many 
people. Trivial incidents neither excite nor dis- 
turb you. In large affairs you possess all of the 
dimensions of feeling; but even so, do you be- 
lieve the depths of your nature have ever been 
touched } ” 

‘‘No, father, they never have been, except 
through my imagination, and that only to a small 
extent. Just think of a woman of my age who 
has never been in love ! ” 

“ You are not altogether a rara avis in this time 
of our century, when young women hunt up a 
lover’s bank account, put him through a university 
examination, and inquire into his domestic habits 
before they say yes. ” 

“ Why, father ! Where did you get such ideas ? 
I didn’t know you ever thought about such things ! ” 

“ I can hardly say I have thought about them. 
I have been impressed with the commercial spirit 
of matrimony in my wanderings. People used to 
take each other ‘ for better or for worse ’ ; nowa- 
days, if the worse comes in any form, legal sepa- 
ration is apt to follow. But I am certainly no 
authority on such subjects, my daughter. I may 
have old-fashioned notions about them. Your own 
heart and brain must govern your movements when 
the time comes — as it surely will.” 

“That time will never come to me, Professor 
Tom, never ! Simply because my brain governs 
my heart always, and the soiled linen is as plain 
to my vision as a heart of gold or the brain of a 
genius.” 


38 The Professor’s Daughter 

** You could supply clean linen easier than either 
of the other two things after marriage,” — and the 
Professor tapped her cheek in loving reproof. 

Father, can you understand me when I say I 
desire to love more than anything else on earth ^ 
I want to feel for myself what I have felt only for 
heroines of romance so far. I wish I liked all 
people better; but as I do not, let me truly love 
some one beside you, which I can honestly say I 
never have done. Aunt Arethusa was positively 
obnoxious to me; Cousin Helen was more or less 
of a society fool — weak above everything else — 
and the hundreds of people we meet are interest- 
ing only as people are in books, though more com- 
monplace and trite.” 

“Well, well, dear! — all in good time. Your 
brain development has gone ahead of your heart ; 
but love will come. Why, child, love is the sun 
and rain of human existence. It refreshes the 
sad and weary heart ; it enriches the soil on which 
the virtues grow; it teaches self-sacrifice and loy- 
alty one to another ; it is the fundamental principle 
of the highest religion taught by the Nazarene who 
said, ‘Love one another,’ first and last. Have 
we not agreed that in this one particular His teach- 
ing stands out as a beacon- light above that of all 
other prophets.^ Love and charity, my daughter 
— love and charity are the bread of life. Louise, 
I have lost that pocket handkerchief again. I’ll 
have to disturb you to see if it is in my pocket. 
No; it has been mislaid. Now, you will say I 
am commonplace because I permit a necessity of 


The Professor’s Daughter 39 

Nature to interfere with our firelight confidences. 
The demands of Nature are fundamental and im- 
perative. They must receive attention. Now, if 
you had a lover who developed a sudden head cold 
in the act of proposal, I suppose you would reject 
him as an unheroic, nineteenth-century man. 
Believe me, the mediaeval heroes had head colds, 
too, and, what is worse, were not careful about 
keeping a supply of pocket handkerchiefs on hand. 
Such facts are true, but they are never mentioned 
in books, you know, Louie.” 

“ Now, father, you are making fun of me,” said 
Louise as she re-entered the room from his bed- 
chamber adjacent, where she had gone during his 
last remarks in search of a fresh handkerchief. 
“ Here is your handkerchief, and go to bed. Men 
always do make fun of women’s finer sensibilities.” 

Well, if fun-making will bring you down to 
earth in your contemplation of this all-important 
question, why not use fun ? Remember what your 
favorite, Charles Lamb, says : ‘ Man, while he 
loves, is never quite depraved; and woman’s tri- 
umph is a lover saved.’ To be sure, this applies 
to larger relations than that existing between you 
and a head cold ; but when he comes you will lose 
sight of his infirmities of body and character until 
you have to live with them, then love will teach 
you to excuse them, as you do my head colds and 
forgetfulness, my child.” 

“ Oh, you are different. One doesn’t expect 
one’s father to be a saint.” 

‘‘ It is fortunate that is the case, then. Good- 


40 The Professor’s Daughter 


night, my Louise. When you find the hero im- 
maculate (.?) and excelling, your old father will 
never bear comparison with him.” 

‘‘No man could ever be to me what you are, 
father.” 

“ No, but he could be much more. Now good- 
night again. We go to the secluded spot by the 
sea next week, where we can continue this discus- 
sion ad infinitum^ having no work to do.” 

“Good-night, father.” She kissed him; then, 
stooping down, picked up something from the 
floor, adding: “Here is your handkerchief. You 
dropped it.” 

“You wouldn’t care to do that for the hero, 
would you, Louie .? ” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

“You are a good daughter, and you will make 
some man a good wife. Good-night, dear child.” 


FOURTH CHAPTER 


In the course of a few days Doctor Layton 
received the following answer to his letter of 
inquiry : 

^^Dear Doctor: — I take my Pen in Hand to 
let you know I don’t see any particular reason why 
I can’t acomdate the boarders seeins they be your 
friends. Be they men folks or women folks.? 
“ Your obedient servant, 

Melissa Stillman.” 

Doctor Layton immediately enclosed the note 
to Louise Fremont, adding these few lines on the 
inside of the ruled sheet : 

My Dear Miss Fremont : — Go at once if 
you have decided favorably. She will be ready 
for you at any time. Take the boat on the Ston- 
ington line. It will reach Stonington in the 
morning about five o’clock. There take train to a 
station called Shannock — the nearest post-office — 
where you can get a team to carry you to Weeca- 
paug in about forty minutes. Let me know if the 
arrangement proves satisfactory or otherwise, and 
oblige ‘‘Yours, 

“ Everett Layton.” 

Louise read this note through slowly ; then she 
read it aloud to her father, adding impatiently: 
“ Do you see now what I mean by his being 


42 The Professor’s Daughter 

bossy? He takes for granted I am going because 
he told me to.” 

‘‘Is not that the habitual manner among physi- 
cians ? It is merely professional, not at all per- 
sonal, his commanding tone. Usually you are 
only too willing to do anything a doctor suggests. 
Perhaps you have conceived a personal prejudice 
against this gentleman, Louie.” 

“ Perhaps I have. Anyway, we are going to 
investigate this sequestered home of his ancestors. 
I confess I am curious about the place. Just look 
at this Miss Melissa Stillman’s writing and Eng- 
lish. She has forgotten all she ever learned at 
school.” 

The Professor put on his glasses to read the 
note, remarking as he finished the perusal : “ Ob- 
serve the use of ‘ be ’ in place of ‘ are,’ Louie. 
That was the form employed originally by all 
classes in some sections of New England — a 
direct lingual inheritance, it is presumed, from 
British ancestors. I shall be interested to trace 
its history and to observe corresponding primitive 
lingual usages among the natives, such as the 
New England dropping of the ‘ r ’ where it 
belongs, and the addition of it on the end of such 
words as ‘ idea,’ ‘ Hannah,’ etc.” 

“Well, if that distinctly primitive note inter- 
ests you, employ your time by going to the root 
of it, while I go out and make inquiries about the 
Stonington boat he mentions, and the other con- 
nections. We had best go at once, or the cele- 
brated doctor will throw up the case.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 


43 


Can’t I attend to those details for you, 
Louie?” asked the Professor anxiously. He al- 
ways asked the question when travelling was con- 
templated, invariably receiving the same answer: 

No, thank you, father. I am more accustomed 
to attending to such things than you are.” 

** As you think best, Louie,” he always replied, 
with an involuntary sigh of relief. 

When they drove to the dock the following 
evening, to take the Stonington boat, Louise 
dropped into a letter-box a note containing these 
few words : 

“ My Dear Doctor Layton : — We are start- 
ing for the undiscovered country at your com- 
mand. 1 have no idea what I am to do by way of 
cure when I get there. If you are trying Faith 
Cure on me, it may work successfully ; mind cure 
will not, because I have been trying that on my- 
self for six months past. 

“Thank you for securing the boarding-place, 
and will you be kind enough to send your bill for 
the examination at your earliest convenience ? 

“ Sincerely, 

Louise Fremont.” 


f 


FIFTH CHAPTER 

They slept comfortably all night on the boat, 
and after a short ride by rail were set down at a 
small country station, where numerous drivers of 
antiquated vehicles solicited their patronage. 

Louise selected a young man of amiable counte- 
nance of whom to inquire : Can you drive us over 
to Weecapaug ? ” 

I don’t see’s anything’s to hinder if you’re 
ready to start. Got any baggage ? ” 

Louise handed him the checks for their two 
trunks, wondering the while if they, their baggage, 
and the driver were all to be squeezed into the 
vehicle in front of which the latter had been 
standing. 

“The air is much clearer here, Louie, than in 
New York,” remarked the Professor as he leaned 
in a waiting attitude against the door of the station 
labelled “Women’s Room.” 

“Yes, and it seems to be a typical, somnolent 
New England town, judging from what we see 
here. Father ! ” she added, leaning over and 
whispering to him, “you have pulled your right 
trouser-leg up too high — I can see white.” 

“ I am glad you mentioned it, Louie. I never 
should have seen it myself,” — and he adjusted his 
nether garment. 


The Professor’s Daughter 


45 


After a moment more the driver appeared, bear- 
ing one of their trunks on his shoulder. Another 
man followed with the other one. His team 
resembled a shabby surrey swung high, with the 
back seat taken out. In the place where this seat 
belonged he deposited the two trunks lengthwise 
of the vehicle, then invited them to take the front 
seat, saying as he got in after them : 

** I cal’late this team wa’n’t built fur so many, 
but it’ll hold — that’s certain. Jus’ move along, 
Mister, ’n I’ll set between you two, unless you’d 
ruther drive an’ let me set behind on the trunks.” 

“ Can’t you hire a wagon of some kind to take 
the trunks and put in another seat back there for 
us ” asked Louise. 

** No’m. There ain’t no wagon to hire. This 
carryall has carried twice’s much’s this load to 
the beach many a time. Jus’ set comf’table, an’ 
we’ll move right along.” 

Fortunately the seat was wide, and his bony 
frame occupied small space, otherwise Louise 
would have openly rebelled ; then, too, there 
seemed to be no alternative, as the other drivers 
had all disappeared by the time they were settled 
in his carryall, the Fremonts having been the only 
passengers for Shannock on the express train. 
The man picked up the reins and urged the sleepy- 
looking horse to action by slapping it on the back 
with them held loosely in one hand, as he called 
out : Gee up there, Marthey ! Git a move on ! 
Gee up ! ” 

The carryall started with a jerk, at which the 


46 The Professor’s Daughter 

Professor caught a quick breath as he recovered 
his balance, remarking : “ This vehicle is somewhat 
precipitous, don’t you think, Louie ? ” 

Louise, who was recovering her own balance, 
too, could not help smiling at the expression of 
her father’s body and face. ^‘Yes,” she replied. 
“ One must admit that it is precipitous, but let us 
hope not continuously so. Our equilibrium will 
hold until the next start, I think. Young man, 
how far is it to Weecapaug ? ” 

“That depends,” he replied lazily; “where be 
you goin’ ? All the way to the beach, or to some 
place back } ” 

“We are going to Miss Melissa Stillman’s,” 
replied Louise. 

“ Oh ! be that where you’re bound ! To 
Melissy’s ! It’s late ’n the year fur summer 
boarders. Well, ’s close’s I can cal’late, it’s five 
miles to the neck an’ four’n a half to Melissy’s.” 

“ How long will it take you to drive over there ? ” 
“Depends on Marthey. She takes spells o’ 
hurryin’ an’ not hurryin’. If she takes a notion, 
with this load, she’d do it easy in an hour — but 
if she don’t it’ll be more.” 

“Let us hope this is her ambitious day,” 
remarked the Professor encouragingly. 

Louise replied in French : “ Monsieur le Doc- 
teur’s Paradis rustique ! ” 

“ What’s that ? ” asked the driver. “ I didn’t 
ketch on. ” 

“ Oh, I said I hoped we would not be long on 
the road. Can’t you make your horse go faster?” 


The Professor’s Daughter 47 

*‘Not faster’n she cal’lates to go. She’s got 
her own notions o’ gait.” 

By this time they had driven through the busi- 
ness portion of the small town, and had turned 
into a broad residence street edged with old elm 
trees, whose branches leaned toward each other 
in friendly, graceful recognition high above the 
travellers’ heads. The houses on either side were 
of the New England Colonial period, surrounded 
by extensive grounds simply laid out in flower- 
beds and flowering shrubs shaded by trees of as 
distinguished local ancestry, and crowned with as 
many years of life, as the first citizens of the town, 
whose homes they ornamented. 

Turning off Elm Street, as he called it, the 
driver drew up before a watering-trough, and 
throwing the reins to the Professor, he jumped 
out on to the pavement before a low, square build- 
ing, whose sign read '' Post-office,” calling back to 
them : “ Might’s well carry Melissy her paper’n 
letters, if she’s got any.” The horse meanwhile 
drank greedily, then began to back. 

The Professor commanded mildly, “ Whoa, 
there ! ” at which Marthey showed her ambition 
by plunging toward the trough, then backing sud- 
denly, repeating the movements until the Profes- 
sor, no horseman at any time, nervously repeated 
his whoas in an imploring tone of voice, pulling 
on the reins so hard that Marthey showed her 
resentment by standing on her hind legs as nearly 
as possible, considering her harness. 

Just then the driver came out, shouting 


48 The Professor’s Daughter 


instantly : What you about there ? Behave your- 
self, Marthey, or I’ll learn you how. Let go the 
reins, Mister ! She ain’t used to your handlin’ ! ” 
Taking her by the bit, he soon restored her to her 
ordinary condition of mind, then jumped in, and 
started Marthey up in her precipitous fashion. 

Got a letter fur Melissy an’ one fur 01 Peck- 
ham,” he remarked. Might’s well take his’n 
along. They’re both from New York city. See, 
there’s the mark. Guess they must come from 
that city doctor whose folks come from Shannock. 
He’s thick’s muskeeters with Melissy ’n 01. Car- 
ries his gun down in the fall o’ the year an’ guns 
round along o’ 01 ’s though they’s twins.” 

** Do you mean that Doctor Layton comes down 
here to go gunning.^ ” asked Louise. 

“ That’s about the size o’ it. He’s a good shot, 
but he’s nothin’ ’long o’ 01. He can send a shot 
through a muskeeter’s wing at a good hundred 
yards. 01 can’t be beat. ” 

“ Who is 01 ^ ” again inquired Louise, trying 
to gather local information. 

‘‘01 Peckham ! Who’s he.^ Ain’t you never 
heard tell o’ him in New York ? Why, land sakes ! 
He’s the bes’ shot out o’ the Wild West show I 
seed once, an* he can ketch more fish ’n any man 
alive.” 

“ Oh, yes ; I suppose he is the fisherman Doctor 
Layton spoke to me about, father. ” 

“ Yes, Louie. What about him } ” 

“ Doctor Layton spoke as though the man were 
an interesting character,” she replied. 


The Professor’s Daughter 


49 


What a remarkable tree ! ” exclaimed the Pro- 
fessor, whose entire mind seemed occupied with 
the objects along the road. They were approach- 
ing an old, gambrel-roof house battered by time 
and weather. “ Has this place a history, my 
man ? ” he questioned. 

“ Don’t know nothin’ ’bout its havin’ a history 
— it’s the ole whippin’-post, an’ that’s the ole tav- 
ern my gran’father kep’. He allowed folks be- 
haved theirselves when they’s tied to that tree, 
and lammed when they went against the law. 
We’re drivin* ’long the post-road to the Pier 
now.” 

“ Narragansett Pier.^” inquired the Professor 
with awakened interest. 

^‘That’s the one — yes, that’s it — Narragansett ; 
same name’s the Injuns have got over yander on 
the resarvation.” 

On and on they drove, seeing on either hand a 
thickly settled farming community. Occasionally 
a house was deserted, its roof partially gone, and 
decay threatened the forsaken dwelling; but as a 
rule the homes looked prosperous and well con- 
ditioned. After a half-hour’s ride they turned off 
of the post-road on to a gradual declivity, leading 
down to the sea. As they made the turn, Louise 
exclaimed: ‘‘Look! Father! Look!” 

A wonderful panorama of sea, sky, sand-dunes, 
and hillocks, covered with savin trees and huckle- 
berry bushes, the latter in the first flush of au- 
tumnal decay, met their eyes. The air had been 
swept clean by a recent northeasterly storm. The 
4 


50 The Professor’s Daughter 

sun shone down on a sea baffled in contest with 
the head-wind and fallen back into a simulated 
smiling repose. To the east stretched a mile of 
rocky beach, breaking suddenly into a sandy shore, 
sweeping back toward the north in a long, sinuous 
curve, which terminated several miles beyond in a 
great mass of rocks surmounted by a life-saving 
station. 

At the point where the rocky beach began, 
notional Nature had broken the coast-line, allow- 
ing the sea to sweep impetuously in, breaking over 
a sand-bar in triumphant leaps, difficult and dan- 
gerous to put a boat through whenever there was 
the slightest disturbance at sea. This Breach, as 
the sudden deviation of the ocean from the coast- 
line was called, was confined on the west by a sud- 
den rise of sand-dunes from a sandy beach. The 
first dune arose in its importance like a beautiful 
schoolgirl at the head of her class, showing in 
the sunlight a shimmering front ascending from a 
broad base to an angular apex where the long grass 
and beach plum bushes began to appear, growing 
in thick, clustering masses from top to bottom of 
what resembled an Indian mound cut in half. 

The sand-hills continued to rise and fall in 
deep, undulating lines for five miles to the west, 
stopped by a fashionable watering-place ; but none 
of the dunes could compare with the majestic head 
of the class which stood out the most prominent 
feature in the landscape. The waters of the 
Breach flowed to the north for half a mile, then 
made a sweep to the westward, broadening into a 


The Professor’s Daughter 51 

pond three miles in length, flowing along at the 
edge of the dune marsh on the south, and on the 
opposite side past the farms divided by stone 
walls into fields and pastures, beginning at the 
water-mark of the Breach and extending back to 
the low hills at the north, covered with timber and 
the many low bushes indigenous to land bordering 
on the beach. 

On the rocky side of the Breach clustered a 
dozen or so summer cottages; on the dune side 
there stood a solitary hut at the very edge of the 
water. At the point where the Breach turned 
toward the west it was spanned by an old wooden 
bridge in close proximity to a farmhouse and its 
outbuildings. On either hand the meadows and 
fields were dotted with similar houses as far as the 
vision could reach. Cows grazed in a pasture at 
no great distance from the house by the bridge, 
and unbridled horses trotted at intervals up and 
down in a small orchard near the house. 

An ox team filled with marsh hay and eel grass 
was crossing the bridge, and a man in a fishing- 
boat rowed dov/n the Breach. There was no sound 
except the faint booming of the breakers on the 
beach and the darting about of a squirrel on the 
stone wall at one side of the road. Peace and 
repose abounded. 

Louise had requested the driver to stop his 
horse while they filled themselves with as much 
of this beauty as they could see from that point. 
Now the Professor broke the silence by asking the 
man : ‘‘ What is the land I see dimly far out at sea > ” 


52 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ Right out in front there, in line with them 
summer houses ? ” returned the driver, pointing 
with the stub of a whip. 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘Block Island. You can’t al’ays see it. To- 
day’s more’n unusual clear, an’ I can see the 
hotels — see them white spots.? Beyont there, a 
little way to the right, be the end o’ Long Island. 
When the dark comes on you can see Montaug 
light on it, an’ Block Island light there, an’ 
Watch Hill light there, an’ when it’s patic’ler 
clear. Pint Judy light way off there.” 

“ Father, we are glad we came, aren’t we .? ” said 
Louise to the Professor, who had put on his far- 
sighted glasses to get the view, and was leaning 
his head against a rod which supported the top of 
the carryall, in silent wonder and the awe with 
which he always contemplated the Creator’s best 
handiwork. 

“Yes, Louie, more than glad,” he replied ear- 
nestly. 

Just then a gun-shot was heard on a distant hill. 

“ What is that.? ” asked Louise. 

“I allow it’s Jerry Simpson and A1 Randall 
after partridges. The law’s off next week, on the 
first or thereabouts, an’ they’s after the birds 
before the city fellers lays fur ’em.” 

“ You see, father, what I have always said. It 
is always so. ‘ Where every prospect pleases, and 
only man is vile.’ Can’t they leave the poor 
little creatures in peace amidst their beautiful sur- 
roundings ! ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 


53 

“Well, Mister, seen enough o’ the scenery yet? 
We mus’ be movin’ ’long. It’s cur’us how city 
folks does take on over them sand-hills an’ rocks 
an’ things”; and he urged Marthey to action, 
walking her slowly down the gradually sloping 
hill. 

“ Don’t you think they are beautiful, yourself? ” 
asked Louise. 

“ I don’t never think nothin’ ’bout ’em. They’ve 
al’ays been there, an’ I cal’ late they’ll al’ays stay’s 
long’s I’m alive without my stoppin’ to stare at 
’em,” he answered. 

The road they now travelled made another turn 
toward the east when they reached the bottom of 
the hill, but the driver left it at this point, con- 
tinuing his general direction toward the sea on a 
private road running between two stone walls and 
across the bridge into the marsh lying between 
the dunes and the pond. “ Are we going to that 
lovely place by the bridge ? ” asked Louise. 

“ That’s where Melissy Stillman lives,” was the 
laconic reply. 

Nothing more was said until they drove up in 
front of the gambrel-roof house facing the road ; 
then the driver climbed out, and, proceeding to 
the front door with his loose- jointed gait, called 
loudly: “Hi, there! Melissy! Be ye a-bed this 
time o’ day ? I’ve brung you some city folks come 
to board.” 

Unceremoniously he opened the front door and 
disappeared within. Presently he came out, ac- 
companied by a woman, who, as the two appeared. 


54 The Professor's Daughter 

was saying, — ain’t because there ain’t been no 
letter from him givin’ the time. ” 

“ Be this the one.? ” asked her companion, pull- 
ing the letters he had brought along out of his 
pocket. She took them in her hands, declaring: 
“Yes, it be. It ain’t like the Doctor, to send 
folks without warnin’, but I allow we’ll make out 
right ’nough. If they can stan’ me’s I be, I can 
Stan’ ’em’s they be.” 

When they reached the carryall the driver said, 
“There’s the folks,” whereupon Melissa gave a 
quick nod, saying with an unbecoming smile: 
“ Yu’re welcome. Git right down ’n come in. It 
wa’n’t like the Doctor to send folks without lettin’ 
me know, so I ain’t fixed up spruce; but I’ll 
make yu comf’table. We al’ays has plenty o’ 
Johnnie cakes on han’ if everything else do give 
out.” 

Louise leaned forward, replying : “ I am sorry, 
Miss Stillman, if our coming puts you out. 
Doctor Layton said you would be ready for us at 
any time, and that he would write you and let you 
know about us.” 

“ Yes, he writ me a letter all right; but he says 
I were to be real patic’lar ’bout yu folks, an’ I 
were settin’ things to rights when yu come. I 
allowed yu’d come to-morrow or nex’ day. But 
come right in. Yu’re welcome, only yu’ll have to 
put up without no meat victuals fur dinner.” 

“ I rarely eat meat, madam,” said the Professor 
in his most gallant way. “Do not worry about 
our food; we are easily satisfied,” — getting out 


The Professor's Daughter 


55 


and assisting his daughter to alight as he spoke. 
“You have a beautiful home. We admire it 
extremely.” 

“ Folks al’ays does,” she replied indifferently, 
leading the way into the house. The Professor 
followed and stood talking to her on the doorstep, 
while Louise settled with the driver for their 
transportation. 

As they two stood together they presented 
almost a comical contrast. The Professor had 
never lost his youthful ' air of refined elegance. 
Melissa was not unrefined, but she was far from 
elegant even at her best. She was a woman of 
fifty-odd years (no one was quite certain how 
many odd, and she denied them), of medium 
height, with what is called “a full figure,” only 
that in her case her fulness seemed to be made of 
bone more than flesh. Though not weighty in 
pounds, her every action signified weight, for as 
she walked one side of her body started to fall to 
earth, only to be prevented by the other side try- 
ing to do the same thing. Her hips were unbal- 
anced — a defect clearly defined by the apron- 
strings tied around a waist never swerved from 
its natural line by a corset. Her arms and feet 
seemed to have had more time in which to grow 
than the rest of her body, they were so dispro- 
portionately long. The body was clothed in a 
navy-blue calico dress flowered in white, whose 
material was exactly matched by her apron. 

As for Melissa’s head, it was way behind every- 
thing else about her in growth, resembling in 


56 The Professor’s Daughter 

shape a small, half -grown pumpkin. Her skin 
was about the color of a light-green window-shade ; 
her brown eyes bulged without quite popping ; her 
nose was well shaped, and her hair, though not 
abundant, had turned from a gray-brown into a 
clean-looking gray- white. As we have said before, 
Melissa’s smile was unbecoming— because it was 
silly and too frequent, although she never had 
been known to laugh. When in repose, her face 
showed integrity, independence, kindness, and 
strong will ; but the instant that smile came all of 
these were lost in the appearance she presented of 
a simpering, kittenish, inquisitive old maid. 

Strangely enough, with this change of facial 
expression came a simultaneous metamorphose in 
character. She had her smiling traits and her un- 
smiling traits — the latter greatly to be preferred. 
As Melissa talked to the Professor she was her 
smiling self, which puzzled the old gentleman. 

“ Be yu and yure gurl the only ones o’ the 
family cornin’ ? ” she smiled. 

“ Yes, madam, ” he replied. ‘‘ We have no other 
members in our family. ” 

Land sakes ! ” she exclaimed. '' Then yu be 
a widdy man, same’s the Doctor ! ” 

I beg your pardon. Miss Stillman, ” replied 
the puzzled Professor. ‘‘I did not understand 
your appellation.” 

“ A widdy man. Is she long dead ^ ” 

I presume you refer to my wife, madam,” he 
said gravely. “ My beloved wife has been dead 
for twenty years.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 57 

I want to know ! Yu don’t say ! Here’s this 
what yu be lookin’ fur ? ” 

She handed his handkerchief to him. 

Thank you, madam, you are very kind. Could 
I trouble you to show us to our rooms } I see my 
daughter has finished her business arrangements, 
and we are fatigued. ” 

The smile vanished, and plain Melissa said, 
*‘Yes. Step right in,” and she preceded them 
into the hall and up the stairway, into two large, 
comfortable bed-chambers — one overlooking the 
sea, the other the low hills. She informed them 
that when dinner was ready they would be called 
by a bell, and left them in their separate rooms. 

Louise stood by the window overlooking the sea 
view, too entirely fascinated by the prospect to 
remember the coal-soot and dust on her face and 
hands until she heard what sounded like a large 
cow-bell rung in the hall below ; then she hurried 
through a toilette, knocked on her father’s door, 
Ind they both went down to a meal unaccustomed 
to them for many years — dinner in the middle 
of the day. The dining-room was just below 
Louise’s chamber, so that, as she sat down to the 
table, covered so entirely with dishes that the 
white cloth was barely visible, she still could look 
at the ocean. 

The floor of the room was covered with matting, 
but everything else about suggested age. A china 
closet filled with a delicate pink tea-set was built 
into the wall opposite the clock. 

Over against the windows there was the high 


58 The Professor’s Daughter 

mantel-shelf under which the open fire used to 
blaze, but at this time was closed up, and an ugly 
hole showed where the stove-pipe was inserted 
when winter came. 

Over the mantel-shelf hung a motto worked in 
worsteds, reading, To-day the Saviour Calls,” 
and on either side of it in oval black frames hung 
photographs of an old lady and gentleman — Miss 
Melissa’s parents. On the shelf was a large Bible, 
a beautifully shaped mulberry sugar-bowl, and 
some Indian relics ploughed up in the fields, such 
as spectacle-shaped stones which had served the 
Indians as charms, slung-stones, arrow-heads, 
spear-heads, skinning-knives, battle-axes, and fish- 
hooks made of bones. The tall clock swung its 
pendulum to long time; the chairs were of light 
wood, with rush bottoms, the backs traced in deli- 
cately colored wreaths of flowers. 

Miss Melissa sat at one end of the table, the 
Professor at the other. Opposite Louise sat a 
subdued - looking elderly woman, who seldom 
spoke. She was introduced as “ my cousin, Sade 
Wilkins— a widdy woman,” and whenever there 
was occasion for service during the meal she arose 
from her place and attended to the wants of the 
rest while her own food grew cold. Miss Melissa 
used an original sign language in talking to 
her. Notwithstanding the absence of “meat vic- 
tuals, ” there was enough on the table for a dozen 
people. 

“What’ll yu take on yure Johnnie cake. Miss 
Fremont — chicken gravy warmed up from yester- 


X 


The Professor^s Daughter 59 

day, currant jelly, or some city folks likes cream ? ” 
asked Miss Melissa, holding out the cream-pitcher 
invitingly. 

I really don’t know which I prefer. Miss Still- 
man,” replied Louise, “for I must confess that I 
never ate a Johnnie cake in my life.” 

“ I want to know ! Sade, did yu hear that ? ” 
she shouted. “ She ain’t never tasted Johnnie 
cake!” Then more quietly: “Yu must ha’ lived 
where folks don’t know nothin’ ’t all ’bout eatin’ ! 
Try the gravy first place. It jus’ suits my taste.” 

The dinner progressed with some conversation- 
al restraint on all sides, and with several long 
silences. After all the numerous dishes had been 
offered the guests, the majority being declined. 
Miss Melissa remarked : “ Why, yu ain’t got no 
kind 0’ appetites ! Wait till yu’ve been in these 
parts a day or two, an’ yu’ll eat ’nough to flesh yu 
up. Sade, git the apple slump now, fur dessert, 
an’ see if it ain’t more temptin’ to ’em.” 

The apple slump with cream — or apple Jona- 
than, as this delicious, delectable, indescribably 
good Rhode Island dessert is sometimes called, 
out of compliment to Brother Jonathan, who could 
give John Bull a few points on culinary delicacies 
if that well-fed gentleman would step into Miss 
Melissa’s dining-room — proved most tempting. 

As they arose from the table. Miss Melissa 
walked over to a door in line with the south win- 
dows, and remarked : “ I allowed yu’d sure to want 
to set on the porch an’ look at the Breach — they 
al’ays does, so jus’ to-day I fetched some chairs 


6o The Professor’s Daughter 

fur yu folks to set on. Step out an’ see if ’tain’t 
invitin’. ” 

They did step out, and found it so inviting that, 
after she left them and they heard the bustle of 
clearing up in the dining-room subside, they sat 
on, until Louise remembered that the trunks were 
still unpacked. 

When she went upstairs the Professor walked 
around the house on an inspection tour; he sat in 
the orchard for a few moments on a seat made 
between two trees, then wandered on down to the 
bridge, where he stood watching the bait-fish glide 
along the surface of the water, making an occa- 
sional impatient leap out into the air, and the blue 
crabs that sidled about on the sand in a shallow 
spot near the shore. No one passed; nothing 
happened to interrupt his lazy content until 
Louise joined him, and they crossed the bridge 
and followed the road leading down to the dunes 
past the solitary cottage. 

Father!” said Louise, as they walked along. 

Have we found Heaven ? ” 

*‘No, Louie dear. We are only seeing God’s 
smile,” replied the Professor, taking off his hat. 


SIXTH CHAPTER 

The following morning Louise was drawn to 
her windows before she could take time to dress, 
just to make sure that the beauty of her surround- 
ings had not vanished over- night. It would seem 
that at this late date in the history of the earth, 
mankind might have grown accustomed to finding 
this planet intact every morning; but the majority 
of people confess to a desire for reassurance on 
this point every twenty-four hours, or at least they 
go through the form of ocular inquiry by instinct 
and habit. 

Nothing had changed that morning at Weeca- 
paug except the time of day whose influence upon 
every seascape is important. The sea may swell, 
roll, lie in placid calm, break or dash just before 
sunset, but it never dances during that hour. Its 
merriest moods are reserved for the forenoon, and 
that morning when Louise looked out of her win- 
dow, forgetful of her flowing hair and night attire, 
the waves were carrying on at a great rate, laugh- 
ing and carolling in their white caps among them- 
selves while they moved about in the dance called 
by mariners ‘‘a sea chop.” The sun looked on in 
bright approval. 

Some one was coming from the bridge toward 
the house. At first, Louise could but dimly see it 


62 


The Professor’s Daughter 


was a man moving ; but as he approached she was 
a tall, well-proportioned figure, dressed in what 
resembled cavalier fashion, but proved to be gray 
corduroy trousers tucked into high rubber boots, a 
navy-blue flannel shirt with suspenders hung over 
the shoulders, and a soft, gray felt hat rolled 
lightly on one side. The front of the hat- brim 
shaded the man’s face, which Louise could not 
have seen had it been visible at that distance. 
On he came, with long, slow strides, bearing in 
one hand a tin pail and on the opposite shoulder 
a gun. 

So engrossed had Louise been with the pic- 
turesque individual, that she forgot herself and her 
negligee ; but suddenly a voice from the porch be- 
neath called out, “ Where be yu goin’, 01 ” and 
the man looked up to reply. 

Louise moved quickly back with the thought: 
“ That must be Doctor Layton’s fisherman friend. 
He looks more like a cow-boy than any fisherman 
I ever saw.” 

When dressed, she rapped on her father’s door. 
At his invitation she entered and found him sit- 
ting by his window arrayed in his usual garments, 
including a frock coat, reading the Meditations of 
Marcus Aurelius. After the morning salutation, 
Louise took hold of the Professor’s coat-sleeve, 
demanding : “ Do you expect to rough it down here 
in your best clothes.? Look at me in this old 
dress I wore on the boat, and then come out and 
peep at the most picturesque biped I ever beheld 
in America. He will shame you out of city 


The Professor’s Daughter 63 

clothes. Where is that old smoking- jacket I put 
in the trunk.? ” 

She went down on her knees before his trunk, 
hauled out the jacket triumphantly, and helped 
him make the change, explaining at the same time 
about the picturesque biped. 

Hurry, now, dear,” she said. “ Perhaps we 
will catch a glimpse of him.” 

At that moment the cow-bell summoned them 
to breakfast. “ Father,” continued Louise, do you 
suppose Miss Melissa will gargle her mouth with 
her tea before she drinks it at every meal .? ” 

“ Oh, did you observe that peculiarity, too, 
Louise.? I am naturally unobserving, as you 
know, but that peculiar utilization of a beverage 
for rinsing purposes struck me painfully. I do 
not wish to be critical, but such a breach of table 
etiquette seemed to me unpardonable. How did 
it appear to you ? ” 

“ It struck me ‘ all of a heap,’ as I heard her say 
yesterday; but you are always preaching to me 
‘ manners do not make the man,’ though to my 
mind they certainly do mar him when they are 
so bad. However, we are pledged only to see 
the best side of this picture, and I am hungry — 
something I haven’t been for six months — so 
come on. ” 

Breakfast was served them alone. Only Miss 
Melissa appeared to attend to their wants. As 
she helped them to creamed flounder, Johnnie 
cake, currant jelly, ginger cakes, cold apple pie, 
and coffee with real cream, she remarked : “ 01’ s 


64 The Professor’s Daughter 

out yonder waitin’ to see yu. Doc writ him one 
o’ the letters yu brung down, an’ he stepped in, as 
he’s goin’ ’long up, to see yu. ” 

“ Can he wait, or had I better go out and see 
him now?” asked Louise, half rising from her 
seat. 

‘‘Set still. Don’t let yure victuals turn cold 
fur 01. He’s al’ays got time to spare. ” 

“ Can we engage this fisherman to take us out 
in his boat ? ” again interrogated Louise. 

“ Dunno. He’s got his own mind ’bout folks. 
If he takes a notion to yu he’ll carry yu anywheres 
yu’ve a mind to go; if he don’t, he’ll ji j’ give yu 
all the room yu want to yureselves. There’s the 
Doctor’s woman as was. He allowed there wa’n’t 
no use fur her on Ian’ or sea, an’ accordin’ he never 
seemed to git any time to take her out even once 
in the boat.” 

“ Does this discriminating individual find time 
to take you and your boarders out, Miss Still- 
man ? ” again questioned Louise in her tone 
which cut. 

“ Me ! Take me ! Take me in a boat ! ” cried 
Melissa with increasing emphasis, standing still, 
with a dish of potatoes clasped in both hands. 
“Well, I cal’late he’ll not any time soon git the 
chance! Land o’ love! I’ve lived here goin’ on 
fifty year an’ ain’t never stepped inside a boat. I 
guess not ! Them’s likes risks likes ’em — them as 

don’t ” and she signified the alternative by a 

movement of her head from side to side as though 
it were too heavy with ideas to hold erect. 


The Professor’s Daughter 65 

‘‘Tell us about the fisherman, won’t you, Miss 
Stillman? Was he born in this neighborhood? ” 

Then Melissa turned into her smile as she took 
a chair, settling herself comfortably for a gossip. 
“About 01 Peckham? Land, no! He wa’n’t 
born here ; he were born over yonder on the river 
by Shannock. His folks follered the sea ; his own 
father were a Captain o’ a fishin’ smack, but they 
w’s a wuthless lot, all but 01, an’ when the ole 
man an’ woman died they left a whole pack o’ 
boys — the woods w’s full o’ ’em — to be farmed 
out round the country. 01 he were took by ole 
man Clarke an’ his woman, an’ I can’t say’s I 
allow they done much b)^ him, cussin’, swearin’ lot 
they be, though they’s my own second cousins. 
They done by him sim’lar to what they done by 
their own two rapscallin’ sons, but that ain’t sayin’ 
much. Nary one had any schoolin’ to speak of, 
but 01 he’s the best o’ the lot furst an’ las’.” 

As she paused here, Louise, who was much 
interested, asked as a spur to her tongue : “ Where 
do those people live ? ” 

“ Clarkes ? Oh, a mile or so up the road,” — 
waving her hand toward the west, — “ almost to the 
head o’ the pond. They’re the kind as knows how 
to handle a dollar’n make it two. Besides the farm, 
they runs a shore-dinner house up there an’ part 
interest in the fishin’ bizness down here. 01 he 
does the fishin’, an’ owns his camp yu see yonder 
alongside o’ the first sand-hill. In winter time 
he helps ’em farm it. 

“ He’s jus’ ’s gentle’s lamb with ’em, but he 
5 


66 


The Professor’s Daughter 


knows how to shut ’em up, an’ that’s more’n any 
other one does, an’ he’s dreadful smart ’bout work 
if he be powerful slow doin’ it. I heard ole man 
Clarke say to his woman once : ‘ Drusilly, shut up 
yure mouth. I’ve stood more’n I ought to from 
yu fur fourty year. If yu don’t jus’ dry up ’ — an’ 
he swore awful — ' I’ll go out an’ hang myself. ’ 
an’ she ups with a clothes-line an’ says : ' Come 
right along, Abe Clarke ; the sooner the better fur 
all concerned. I’ll help yu with pleasure.’ An’ 
then yu may be sure he wa’n’t so keen ’bout goin’.” 

“That looks as though she knew how to manage 
him, anyway,” said Louise, exchanging glances 
with her father, who had stopped eating and put 
on his glasses to listen to this narrative. He 
always insisted he could hear better with his 
glasses on. 

“ Well, she do if any one do besides 01. Now, 
if yu’re full I’ll call him in,” said Miss Melissa 
finally. 

“ Can’t we go out to him if he is on the porch ? ” 
asked the Professor, looking at his watch. 

“Jus’ ’s yu like,” replied Melissa. “ I’d like to 
say furst, though, we don’t |it no dinner till 
meetin’s over, an’ so it’ll be later’n yistaday.” 

“ Church service, do you mean, madam ? Why, 
I’m all turned around, Louie. I certainly thought 
this was Saturday.” 

“That’s right ’nough,” returned Melissa; “but 
Sat’day’s the real Lord’s day; it’s our Sabbath; 
we’re all o’ us Seventh-Day folks ’bout here.” 

'“ Interesting, indeed ! ” exclaimed the Professor. 


The Professor’s Daughter 67 

I can hardly imagine this lady as the product of 
a Jewish community; can you, Louie? ” 

They were following Melissa out on to the 
porch, and Louise only had time to say in a low 
tone: “I hardly think she means Jews. She 
meant Seventh-Day Baptists, I think, whatever 
they may be. ” 

As they stepped out on to the porch the man, 
01 Peckham, was sitting on the step, sighting his 
gun at some object as though he were about to 
shoot. 

“ 01 Peckham ! Quit it ! Don’t you shoot 
them turkeys ! Don’t ! ” screamed Melissa, wab- 
bling toward him at a great rate. 

“ Melissy, jus’ take a reef in yure sail. I ain’t 
a-goin’ to tetch ’em, but sure’s anything Pd like 
to drop a shot through the whiskers o’ that gob- 
bler, jus’ to see what he’d do,” — and he looked 
up at them all with a slow smile growing about 
his mouth as though it could not hurry. 

He bestowed on them a measuring glance from 
soft brown, faithful eyes protected by long, dark 
“winkers,” as he called his eyelashes. His skin 
was of the sunburnt bronze common to all seafar- 
ing people who are exposed to the sun. The line 
of his chin was gentle without a decided sugges- 
tion of either weakness or firmness, the flesh being 
rounded over a short jawbone. A large nose 
blunted at the end was the strongest feature of 
his face; but the truth is, the real 01 Peckham 
was to be seen only in the depth of those un- 
fathomable eyes. 


68 The Professor’s Daughter 

He stood up slowly, and rested the gun, barrel 
up, carefully against a corner made by the porch 
where it joined on to the house, while Melissa was 
saying : 01, here be the Doctor’s folks, if yu want 

to see ’em. ” 

“Glad to make yure acquaintance,” said Ol, 
taking off his hat and holding it in his hand. 
“ Doc said yu’d be ’long at an early date, but I 
didn’t cal’late on its bein’ soon’s this till my 
cousin Jim brung me the letter along ’th yu folks.” 

Louise Fremont’s manner when first meeting 
people was always dignified and graceful, but 
seldom cordial. She rarely held out her hand to 
new acquaintances ; but when 01 Peckham smiled 
up at her, an inexplicable impulse came to Louise 
to give him her hand in greeting, and she smiled, 
too, as she did frequently at her father, but at few 
other people, as she said : 

“ We are very glad to meet the Doctor’s friend. 
He told me about you. This is my father. Pro- 
fessor Fremont.” 

The Professor’s manner with strangers was as 
childlike, frank, and sincere as his nature. He, 
too, shook 01 by the hand. 

“ My daughter and I think we have found a 
wonderfully beautiful place in coming to your 
home. ” 

01 let his hand drop limply out of the Profes- 
sor’s as he replied : “ It’s real pleasunt, ain’t it } ” 

It is generally conceded that the way a man 
shakes hands is indicative of his character. This 
may be, so far as surface indications are to be 


The Professor’s Daughter 69 

trusted, when the man is habituated to metropoli- 
tan forms of salutation; but when he is an Ori- 
ental, or when he has been born and bred in a 
country neighborhood, where the inhabitants salute 
each other with a brief nod upon all occasions, the 
limp handshake which 01 Peckham and the major- 
ity of his kind give does not necessitate a limpness 
of disposition. Country folks do not know how 
to express themselves through the medium of their 
hands except by way of manual labor. 

Meeting these city people did not embarrass 
Oliver Peckham, but shaking hands with them 
did. He looked down at his hat and his rough, 
brown hands permanently calloused by hard row- 
ing, hauling lobster-pots, pitching seaweed, help- 
ing farm “ back at the house,” and the many other 
duties he performed in his dual existence as fisher- 
man and farmer. Only for a moment did this new 
consciousness fill him, then he looked up, saying, 
in his slow, kind voice : 

“ I be goin’ back on the hills fur a solitary 
chance at them quail an’ pattridges before the 
law’s off; but I’ll be back this forenoon — after 
dinner, anyway — an’ if yu folks’d like a row up 
the pond after dinner I’ll be on hand at the 
bridge, along o’ my boat, to take yu ’long ’th me’s 
I be goin’ up home fur some clam-bait an’ oysters. 
That’s why I’ve got on them boots a dry day.” 

“ That is very kind of you. Won’t we be in the 
way } ” asked Louise, doubtful as to whether this 
was an invitation or a business proposition. 

‘‘ Yu won’t if 01 says there’s room fur yu,” said 


70 The Professor’s Daughter 

Melissa, smiling. He is very pa’tic’ler who he 
takes along.” 

‘‘By gum! Melissy. Be yu tadpolin’ 'round 
here yet.? I allowed yu’d gone in to 'tend chores 
an’ boss Sade, long ago,” said 01 in the bantering 
tone he always used with her. 

“Ain’t yu got no eyes in yure head lef’, 01 
Peckham.? But I were jus’ ’bout to go, anyways. 
Sade an’ me’s both goin’ to meetin’,” — with which 
retort she turned and entered the house. 

The Professor had seated himself, and Louise 
stood leaning against a post as 01 made a move to 
go, saying : “ I mus’ git a move on, same’s Melissy, 
even if ’tain’t along the same road to hell. Yu 
know she ’lows we’re all sinners bound fur hell ; 
an’ I ’low if I do’s good’s I know how in this 
world I ain’t goin’ to a worse, sinner or no 
sinner. ” 

“That’s sound doctrine, my man,” said the Pro- 
fessor, immediately on the alert for moral phi- 
losophy from a son of toil. “ What’s the church 
this lady says she attends .? ” 

“Seventh-Day Baptists they calls theirselves, 
an’ stands out as how they’s the only ones as keeps 
the right Sunday. But I mus’ be movin’ or them 
quails ’ll git to the North Pole before I git a shot 
at ’em.” 

“Just one moment, my man,” said the Professor, 
detaining him ; “ if that is Block Island off there, 
then this must be the region celebrated in song 
by the poet Whittier in his poem of the lost ship. 
Palatine, Did you ever hear of such a ship .? ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 71 

“ There be two or three wrecks — jus’ the spars 
lef’ — goin’ from here to the Pier. I don’t jus’ 
recollect any wrecks along here o’ that name. 
Say it again, will yu, boss } ” 

Palatine y' repeated the Professor. ‘‘It is the 
story of a mysterious light rising from the region 

of Block Island, I believe ” 

“ Oh ! the haunted ship’s what yu’re after,” 
interrupted Ol. “ I seen it myself, an’ my father 
an’ gran’father before me. ” 

“ Have you really ? How exciting ! ” exclaimed 
Louise, looking almost as eager as her words 
sounded. “ I can’t see that Block Island they say 
is off there. Can you ” 

“ Listen now, Louise,” interrupted the Profes- 
sor dreamily. “ Don’t you know Whittier’s old 
tale in verse } Every schoolgirl knows it. ” As 
the Professor repeated the musical story to the 
end of its rhythmic description, 01 sat as one 
entranced; he could not take his eyes off the Pro- 
fessor, and at the end of the recital, after the 
words, 

“It is known to us all, they quietly say; 

We, too, have seen it in our day, “ — 

he broke in with : “ Vu’ve got the very words o’ it ! 
My gran’father uset to set mendin’ nets an’ tellin’ 
us kids ’bout the burnin’ ship ’till my backbone’ed 
wriggle like a mack’rel jus’ off the hook.” 

“ Tell me about the haunted ship as you saw it, 
won’t you.? ” pleaded Louise. 

“Well, perhaps I will when Doc comes an’ I 
take the hul o’ yu out to sea in the moonlight. 


72 The Professor’s Daughter 

He says as that story belongs o’ the dead o’ the 
night. ” 

Will you take us out in the moonlight, to sea ? 
That would be perfect ! ” exclaimed Louise. 

’Tis fur them’s likes it,” he replied, shoulder- 
ing his gun and picking up his pail. I can’t be 
tadpolin’ round here any longer. I’ll be back here 
by one o’clock anyway, an’ yu be ready when I 
call in fur yu. Doc says to me in his letter, ^ If I 
can’t cure her, yu mus’,’ so we’d better make a 
beginnin’ right away. See yu later. ” And with his 
inclusive kindly glance directed at them, by way 
of salutation, he moved on briskly, as if afraid of 
further delay, and disappeared around the corner 
of the house. 

“ That man has a figure recalling the Olympian 
games ! What a race the Americans would be if 
they lived out-of-doors more and stopped hurry- 
ing ! ” remarked the Professor. 

“Yes, but did you notice the expression of his 
eyes } They look as if they loved the whole world 
and everybody in ito I have only seen that look 
twice before: once in the face of a Salvation 
Army woman, and again in the eyes of a young 
Buddhist priest of the travelling order — the one we 
met in Constantinople. Don’t you remember him, 
father ? ” 

“ I think I recall the priest. I remember how 
interesting the information was that he gave me 
about his order to which Buddha himself belonged, 
but I cannot say that I recall his expression.” 

“ I do, distinctly, because it was such a rare and 


The Professor’s Daughter 


73 


beautiful one. This man, 01, as they call him, 
has not the spirituality of the priest, but he has 
the same benevolence, charity — oh, I don’t know 
how to express it, but I know he is happy. Come 
on. Professor dear, let us wander — not ‘ ’neath the 
wild wood,’ but on the sands, where we can com- 
ment upon the remarks of the wild waves.” 

And they did wander, but not for long. The 
Professor was in the habit of making his little 
joke, when people insisted upon his taking long 
tramps, by insisting in return that his spirit was 
willing but his wind was weak, which remark 
Louise insisted “wasn’t a bit like father.” 

They soon rested in the lee of the wind, leaning 
against the base of a dune. But though they 
became deeply engrossed in discussing whether 
Carlyle was right when he said, “ On the whole, 
we make too much of faults ; the details of the 
business hide the real centre of it. Faults, the 
greatest of faults, I should say, is to be conscious 
of none,” which Professor Fremont read aloud, 
they reached the house in time for dinner and 
were ready for 01 when he came. 

“ Better carry ’long some thick things. I’m 
thinkin’, fur we’re on the aidge o’ the fall o’ the 
year, an’ if the wind swings ’round to the no’therd 
before evenin’ yu might ketch a chill cornin’ back,” 
remarked 01 to Louise. 

She took his advice at once, like an obedient 
child. 01 Peckham was one of the kind who 
never waste an opinion for the sake of self- 
importance; therefore, people instinctively ac- 


The Professor’s Daughter 


74 

cepted it when offered, as coin with the true ring. 
When she came back with an extra coat for her 
father and a wrap for herself, 01 took them both 
from her hands, swinging them alongside his gun 
on his shoulder as he said : Yu’d ought to ha’ 
brung ole clothes down here. My boat’s ’s good a 
craft’s yu’ll find cruisin’ ’round, but nobody can’t 
nohow keep her’s well rid up’s a parlor; an’ she do 
smell fishy after we’ve ketched a barrel or two o’ 
sculp or striped bass or mack’rel out o’ her. ” 

“ I don’t believe your boat will do this dress of 
mine any damage — it has reached its last stages, ” 
said Louise, smiling. 

“Jus’ ’s yu say, but it looks pretty good to me 
— lay low there ! Squat ! Oh ! yu can’t ! Hush ! 
There’s a hawk! See it.^ Lay low an’ I’ll have 
it!” 

The Fremonts from sheer astonishment stood 
perfectly still, while 01 dropped pail and wraps, 
cocked his gun, raised it to his shoulder, and 
waited. From an easy-going expression his face 
had changed to that of an animal watching its prey 
— the look of the huntsman. The eye not occu- 
pied in sighting narrowed into the alert, voracious 
slit of a cat’s when she hears a mouse. 01 began 
to sink downward from the knees, shortening his 
height as he slunk silently toward the wall at the 
side of the road. 

“ Sh ! ” he said. “ See her ? The big pirate ! 
I’ll knock yistaday out o’ her before she knows it.” 
Off went the first shot. 

“ By Gui ! The ole buzzard ! I’ll put the 


The Professor’s Daughter 75 

powder to her ! Now ! Where was Moses when 
the light went out ? ” 

At the second shot, the hawk, which had 
circled round and round after the first discharge 
cut her wing, fell almost at their feet, 01 having 
made a line shot the second time through the 
breast. The Professor had jumped all over at the 
explosion of the double-barrel shotgun so near his 
head, and Louise turned pale as she looked at the 
bleeding bird. She had never witnessed any form 
of death before. 01 seemed like a murderer to 
her at the moment. 

Neither spoke, but 01 nonchalantly picked up 
the bird, remarking : “ She’d ought to know’d 
better’n to come my way. It’s the first an’ las’ 
learnin’ on that pint she’ll git, ain’t it } ” — address- 
ing Professor Fremont. 

“ Certainly ! Certainly ! ** replied he nervously. 
‘‘This is sport to you, I presume.” 

“ The bes’ kind. Ain’t it to yu ? ” asked 01, 
surprised. 

“ Not exactly, my man. I served some time in 
the late war, and have never wanted to touch a 
gun or sword since. ” 

“ Oh, it’s the bes’ sport goin’. Course all such 
things be only enjoyable in the practice. Doc 
Layton, he handles a gun nex’ to me in these 
parts.” 

They walked on while 01 related a tale illustra- 
tive of Doctor Layton’s prowess as a crack shot, 
but Louise showed no interest ; her mind was still 
on death as a horror, not as a sport. Finally she 


76 The Professor’s Daughter 

asked : ** Do you think it is right to kill the inno- 
cent birds ? ” 

Innercent ! Them ole pirates innercent ! 
Land sakes, he’s a bird o’ prey — kills every 
chicken he can. There be a bounty on every 
single hawk-bill carried to Shannock.” 

“ But you seem to like to kill, while in every 
other way you seem so kind,” she replied, looking 
at him almost sorrowfully. 

‘‘ I cal’late t’ain’t the killin’ I likes — it’s the 
hittin’ — don’t think nothin’ ’bout killin’. If a 
stone’d git up an’ fly I’d enjoy shootin’ it jus’ ’s 
well. It’s the sport — but women folks wa’n’t 
built fur it.” Louise said no more, but she 
never became entirely converted to his opinion. 

When they were safely settled in the boat, with 
the Professor in the bow “ to keep her head down,” 
and Louise in the stern seat, 01 stood up facing 
the bow, rowing with long, powerful strokes of the 
ten-foot oar as he stood. Louise almost forgot 
her recent shock in admiration of the romantic 
flgure he made standing thus, the play of the 
muscles of his back and arms showing through the 
flannel shirt. 

'‘Them fall tides be runnin' swift. Standin’s 
easier’n settin’ against one runnin’ out’s fast’s this 
be. Wait till Doc comes to-morrow an’ we’ll 
make a team no tide’ll turn.” 

“Do I understand that this Doctor Layton is 
coming here to-morrow ? ” inquired the Professor, 
holding on to his soft black hat with one hand and 
his handkerchief with the other. 


The Professor^s Daughter 


77 


“That’s about the size o’ it, if the biler don’t 
bust on the way down from New York. He al’ays 
comes sure’s Sunday the hul o’ September an' 
stays down through October, ’ceptin’ once in a 
while a trip to the city fur his patients. ” 

“ Louise, did you understand that Doctor Lay- 
ton was coming down here to-morrow } ” called 
the Professor from his end of the boat to hers. 

“ No, father ; he said nothing about it to me. 
Is he ” she called back. 

01 said to the Professor : “ I’ll tell her. The 
wind is breezin’ up, an’ talkin’ ain’t easy against 
it,” — with which he turned around and seated 
himself, continuing to row in the ordinary way. 
“Yes, he’s cornin’.” He now addressed Louise. 

“ He al’ays does. The folks round here’d all die 
off if he didn’t. To be sure, there’s doctors in 
Shannock, but they ain’t no good ’long-side o’ him, 
an’ folks knows it. Round here fur miles they all 
put off bein’ sick till the fall o’ the year, when 
he’s sure to come, an’ they’ll git off without payin’ . 
nothin’.” 

“ Do you mean to say he never charges the 
people about here for his services ? ” asked Louise 
interestedly. 

“ Not a livin’ cent. He cut some blurs off Ann 
Randall’s eyes las’ fall, an’ they’d been growin’ on 
fur years same as barnacles on a vessel’s hulk. 
Nobody couldn’t cure ’em, but he jus’ took 'em 
off in a minute, an’ he ain’t charged a cent. He’s 
the best man livin’, Doc is. Why, he says how 
his folks havin’ come from Shannock, he owes a 


78 The Professor’s Daughter 

duty by the hul neighborhood fur makin’ ’em’s 
decunt’s they be. Didn’t he find ole Israel 
Downer livin’ on the pore -farm two years ago, an’ 
because he were a pore relation of Doc’s gran’- 
mother’s — ’bout forty-fifth cousin — he took him 
out an’ carried him to the ole whippin’-post house 
on the post-road an’ set him up housekeepin’ there 
on his own account, along with the widdy Brown 
to do chores an’ things fur him.” 

“ I’m glad to hear such good accounts of Doctor 
Layton from the people who know him best,” 
replied Louise, whose mind was growing confused 
with the contradictory images of the eye specialist 
presented to her recently. 

“ Anybody’ll tell yu he can’t be beat,” continued 
01 ; then he began to point out small, clustering 
islands covered with low trees and bushes and 
“pisen ivry,” as he called that deceptive parasite. 

These small islands increased in number as the 
pond broadened and swept inland for about a 
quarter of a mile, forming a cove. Louise asked 
many questions about the place and people, all 
of which 01 answered patiently and humorously. 
He seemed to have a kind word to say about 
every one — even a criticism from him was never 
harsh. Finally they drifted into silence. The 
Professor had taken out his small pocket volume 
and was reading, but Louise wished for nothing 
more than to glide along in indolent enjoyment of 
Nature’s allurements spread out on every hand in 
unusual variety. As 01 began to row ashore, he 
said to her : 


The Professor’s Daughter 


79 

“ Do yu see that orchard an’ them turkeys to 
the right han’ o’ the shore-dinner house?” indi- 
cating the place by throwing his hand backward as 
he continued rowing. 

Yes,” she replied. 

Them turkeys be o’ the same family’s we send 
the President’s Thanksgivin’ turkey from some 
years, an’ them apples be Rhode Island sweetings 
— the kind folks swears by. I’ll fetch yu some 
o’ ’em when I come back from the house.” He 
drew them up to a small wooden dock, to which 
he fastened the boat, then walked up to the 
house, which stood on an elevation above the 
orchard of sweetings and greenings, whose limbs 
were knotted as though full of rheumatic old 
age. 

Father, I am breathing the breath of life,” 
said Louise, looking at him lazily after 01 disap- 
peared. 

It does me good to see you so happy, Louie 
dear,” he replied. 

** I believe this place is what I have been wait- 
ing for all my life,” she said, looking back toward 
the sand-dunes. 

Nothing more was said or heard but the gurgle 
of the water under the boat and its swishing 
against the bow, until Oliver came back in what 
for him was a hurry. Handing Louise two deli- 
cate green apples out of his pail, he said : Take 
a try at them sweetings. They be real good. 
Who d’ yu think’s come ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” she replied. “ Who ? ” 


8o 


The Professor's Daughter 


Doc ! He walked ’cross lots, an’ stopped to 
see Ann Randall, who’s complainin’, on the way 
’long, allowin’ I’d be cruisin’ round somewheres 
or one o’ the boys’d carry him down to the camp. 
If yu ain’t no reason against it, we’ll stow him in 
somewheres an’ carry him down ’long ’th us. Do 
yu mind ? ” 

** Mind ! Of course not. This is your boat. 
Tell him we will be glad to have him go back with 
us,” replied Louise, and 01 disappeared again by 
way of the orchard. 


SEVENTH CHAPTER 

Doctor Layton came back with 01 down the 
slope leading from the house to the water. He 
carried a small rifle on his shoulder, and was evi- 
dently relating some humorous story or episode to 
Ol, for the latter was laughing in his slow, deep- 
toned way and the Doctor’s boyish peal was heard 
frequently. 

As they approached, the Doctor stopped, aimed 
the rifle, then lowered it, indicating the hammer 
with his right hand. They both laughed again, 
and Louise imagined the Doctor was telling a 
gunning story. As she watched him draw near 
her sensations were not well balanced. She had 
begun by nursing a personal prejudice against this 
man. What she thought she knew of his life was 
deeply repugnant to her, and she was prone to 
criticise a certain lack of poise in his manner 
which grated on her over-refined sensibilities. 
When a woman’s ideal man is a combination of a 
Chevalier Bayard, an Edward the Confessor, a 
Charles Lamb, and a William Gladstone seen only 
in perspective, what can she find in a man who is 
but her own equal ? 

Doctor Layton leaned over the side of the boat, 
holding out his hand to Louise as he said : How 
do you do, Miss Fremont.^ Is the cure progress- 
6 


82 . The Professor’s Daughter 

ing? I am what 01 calls ' a surprise party/ am I 
not ? I nearly always come down for over Sunday 
during the fall, but I believe I did not mention 
that fact to you. Professor Fremont will hardly 
remember me after all these years, so I’ll intro- 
duce myself again by shaking hands with him.” 
Which he did in his hearty way, called by Melissa 
captivatin’.” 

It seemed to have this same effect upon the Pro- 
fessor, for after Louise had murmured the com- 
monplace, ** We are very glad indeed to see you,” 
the elder man, steadying himself by the Doctor’s 
hand and arm, arose and stepped up on the little 
pier saying : “ Help me out. Doctor Layton, and 
permit me to say, not only how glad I am to meet 
you, but to add my appreciation of your kindness 
to my daughter and to me in sending us to this 
beautiful spot.” 

So you really like Weecapaug, Professor Fre- 
mont.? It’s the home of my ancestors, and the 
home of my heart. It is my Arcadia.” 

The two men stood discussing Weecapaug until 
the Doctor turned to Louise, asking, Do you find 
the place up to your expectations. Miss Fremont .? ” 
while 01 showed the Professor a spring near by, 
flowing into the pond, over which an arch of 
stones had been built. Ferns and lichens grew 
out of the crevices between the stones of this fairy 
bath, making a cool, green bower over the translu- 
cent water. 

Louise replied with more animation than usual. 
“ I am bewitched with the beauty of it all and by 


The Professor’s Daughter 83 

your fisherman. Tell me, please, can we offer to 
pay him for bringing us up here ? It would be 
like doing business with a picture to offer him 
money.” 

‘‘ I hardly think he would take it. I’ll make it 
all right with him,” replied Layton, who certainly 
looked ten years younger in a blue serge suit, a 
cap, and a general air of freedom and relief from 
thought. 

*‘No, Doctor Layton,” said Louise, a trifle 
coolly ; if there is to be any settling with him I 
will attend to it, thank you.” 

Oh, I see ! you like to do things for yourself. 
Couldn’t you let it go on my bill ? — which, by the 
way, I forgot to bring with me.” 

No, I couldn’t. Do you ever talk seriously 
about anything ? ” 

“ Not often, and certainly not on such an after- 
noon as this. I sent you here to get away from 
the serious side. Would you have me bring it 
down with me on the train Do you feel that 
sunburn coming on.^ Put some cornstarch on 
your face, just as you would powder, and it will 
not hurt you much. ” 

“ What ! Am I burning already ? ” She passed 
her fingers over her cheeks. I don’t feel it. I 
usually tan more than burn.” 

I believe I’d grow fat off the fun of teasing 
you. Miss Fremont. You take it all so seriously. 
Were you ever a little girl, or did you ever do 
anything in this world without taking a second 
thought ? ” laughed Layton. 


84 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ In forming an ophthalmic diagnosis, Doctor 
Layton, do you usually make a study of the 
patient’s idiosyncracies ? ” 

‘‘ Whew ! What stupendous language ! I 
meant for you to leave the dictionary behind you, 
too.” 

Oh, yes, and learn to talk like Miss Stillman, 
I presume, while I’m about it.” 

Like Melissa.^ Nobody could do that. She’s 
a unique even for Weecapaug. Have you fallen 
in love with her smile } ” 

“ Not altogether. I have my affections pretty 
well in hand.” 

“I’ll warrant you have,” — and his deep- set eyes 
danced like the waves when the sun strikes them 
in a blue sea. “ I salute thee. Lady Clara Vere de 
Vere,” and, pressing his cap over the region of 
his heart. Doctor Layton bowed low. 

Just then 01 and the Professor came up behind 
him, and 01 called out : “ Doc, yu git out them 
rowlocks, an’ I’ll fill this jug with drinkin’ water, 
an’ we’ll be movin’.” 

Louise felt a new atmosphere of vitality and 
action about them as Doctor Layton, having 
helped himself to a pair of oars (01 always carried 
four with his usual caution), took his seat and 
pulled with the fisherman, his strong body sway- 
ing in time with Ol’s long frame. He asked 
01 : ^ Where s Mary Ann Is she in disgrace 

to-day.? Doesn’t she draw, or has she ' bit- 
tered up ’ .? ” 

“ Oh, she’s same’s usual an’ jus’ ’s good, only I 


The Professor’s Daughter 85 

don’t know’s the folks likes tobacco,” 01 replied, 
indicating Louise with his hand. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to see Mary Ann, Miss 
Fremont?” called Layton, turning his head 
toward Louise, who was seated in the bow behind 
01. 

I do not object to tobacco smoke, if that is 
what you wish to know,” returned Louise. 

“ Then, 01, light up and be happy,” ordered the 
Doctor. 

01 crossed his oars in front of him, took from 
his pocket a cob pipe and a square plug of to- 
bacco, which he cut into bits and stuffed into the 
bowl of the pipe ; then he applied a match, and 
was happy. He always called his pipe Mary Ann, 
lovingly, and talked of her as though she were his 
sweetheart. 

The Professor and Doctor Layton made each 
other’s acquaintance, seated opposite, as they were, 
by discussing the different varieties of trees grow- 
ing on the hills, and Professor Fremont was 
greatly interested in what 01 called “the bald- 
headed mountain,” a distant hill destitute of 
foliage, with a bare, sandy summit supposed to 
be an interesting spot in Indian history. 

When Louise and her father were safely landed 
at the bridge. Doctor Layton got back into the 
boat, and, raising his cap, said to them : “ I hope 
I may call upon you and Melissa to-morrow. She 
does her washing on Sunday, I know, but I think 
she will receive me.” 

“ Certainly, we will be most pleased to see 


86 


The Professor’s Daughter 


you,” replied Professor Fremont. Where do 
you stay when down here, Doctor Layton.^ 

^‘All about,” replied Layton carelessly, 
“ wherever the notion takes me. 01 is to be my 
host this time. I shall bunk with him at the 
camp. Good evening. Remember the prescrip- 
tion for the sunburn. Miss Fremont.” 

“ Tell Melissa he’ll be up fur dinner to-morrow 
— I’m goin’ home,” 01 called back as the two men 
rowed down the Breach. 

‘‘What was the prescription the Doctor men- 
tioned, Louie ? ” asked the Professor. 

“ Oh, he was only joking, father. He dearly 
loves to tease, and had been trying to make me 
believe my face was all red and ugly,” replied 
Louise as they walked up the path to the house. 

“Yes, he has a great deal of the boy left in 
him, but he is every inch a man, and a man I 
would trust,” said her father. 

“The Doctor seems to have captivated you, 
father. I have heard that word ‘ captivatin’ ’ used so 
much to-day that I’m falling into the habit myself.” 

“ He is a fine man. I think I should like him 
for my friend. He reminds me of my college 
chum, Billy Everett. Billy was hardly ever out 
of a scrape, and yet everybody loved him. I 
wonder where he is now ” The Professor sighed, 
and Louise silently put her arm through his. 

As the two men rowed away together, Layton 
pulled out a cigar and handed another to 01, 
remarking : “ What do you think of the old gentle- 
man and his daughter, 01 .^ ” 


The Professor’s Daughtei 87 

Well, he don’t take much studyin’ ’bout — he’s 
got learnin’ an’ a good heart, if he das’ sent tetch 
a gun since he fought in the wars ; but the gurl 
don’t speak her mind on her face; she jus’ lays 
low an’ watches other folks same’s if they was a 
circus; but if ever she gits some red in them 
cheeks an’ a more feelin’ look in them eyes, she 
can have me fur looks. She’s the same’s them 
white gulls we shoots on Gull Rocks — all white 
an’ smooth an’ lovely, but there’s a lackin’ some- 
wheres — I can’t say jus’ where.” 

01 looked puzzled as he spoke. 

Yes, old man, you’ve about sized her up. She 
is ‘ all white and smooth and lovely,’ both inside 
and out, but she hasn’t much heart,” said the 
Doctor. 

Gui ! she made ’nough fuss ’bout my shootin’ 
an’ ole pirate hen-hawk to have a dozen women 
folks’es hearts, the kind ’at al’ays be carryin’ on 
’bout things.” 

‘‘Did she.^ ” asked the Doctor quickly. “Per- 
haps she cares for animals and birds, and, as she 
said, ‘ Only man is vile’ to her.” He smiled at 
the remembrance, and then suddenly changed the 
subject. 

When the Fremonts reached the house. Miss 
Melissa was standing at the south door, shading 
her eyes with one hand, watching the retreating 
boat. 

“ Who’s that in the boat with 01 ? ” she called 
out. 

“Doctor Layton. We picked him up at the 


88 


The Professor's Daughter 


house where the fisherman took us. He had 
walked from Shannock,” replied Louise. 

“An’ sent his things ’round by Jim, I guess. 
Where’s he goin’ to sleep said Melissa, still 
looking after the boat. 

“Down at the fisherman’s hut. They said to 
tell you he would be here for dinner to-morrow,” 
Louise replied ; then suddenly she added : “ Miss 
Stillman, where does he usually stay.? ” 

“ Here, ’long o’ me, o’ course. Yu’ve got his 
room ; but he said I were to give it up to yu when 
yu come,” was the reply. 

Louise stood still an instant, looking in the 
direction the boat had taken ; then followed her 
father upstairs, where he had gone at once on their 
return. She commented to herself : “ He is un- 
selfish, anyway.” 

The following morning both father and daughter 
went about Melissa’s place on a tour of investiga- 
tion. The horse barn came first, then the cow 
^ barn, where the twenty cows were milked night 
and morning, and whose odor, Louise declared, 
reminded her of Thomas Hardy’s England. Then 
came the orchard, where the horses not in use 
trotted up and down when not cropping grass ; and 
up behind this orchard, as the earth began to make 
into a hill, they found an old burying-ground, 
where rested all kinds of Stillmans, from Revo- 
lutionary captains, with pompous and edifying 
epitaphs, to Melissa’s grandfather, who was buried 
at the head of a row of five wives. 

There was never any doubt in the minds of the 


The Professor’s Daughter 89 

Fremonts from that time on that Melissa belonged 
to an old family, and back in the private recesses 
of their brains they both thought more of her for 
so doing. Next to brains came “good stock” in 
their appraisement of human values. The Profes- 
sor’s theory was that with brains and good blood 
a man must be “ a gentleman and a scholar.” 

Upon their return to the house they received an 
intimation of a shock to even their Unitarian views 
of Sunday observance, when they saw Melissa 
busily engaged in hanging out her week’s washing. 

Louise remarked : “ I wonder if she knows why 
she keeps Saturday as Sabbath. Let’s ask her ” ; 
and she said to Melissa, as they moved within 
speaking distance: “Why is it. Miss Stillman, 
that you do not keep this day as Sabbath } ” 

Melissa answered with a clothes-pin between 
her teeth. “ Why } Because I be a Seventh-Day 
Baptist.” 

“ But have you any reason for thinking that 
way about it ” continued Louise. 

“ Reason ’nough in the Scriptures. The Lord , 
begun to make the world on a Sunday, which were 
the first day, wa’n’t it.^ Then He made the 
animals, an’ the sun, an’ moon, an' stars, an’ 
water, an’ Adam an’ Eve on the followin’ days ; an’ 
when Sat’day come He rested from His labors. 
There’s yure proof’s dear’s day.” 

Melissa had dropped her hands, holding a wet 
sheet in them in front of her as she enumerated. 
After the last word of her explanation she turned 
in a final way to hang up the sheet. 


go The Professor’s Daughter 

The Fremonts walked around to the porch, 
where they sat some time discussing the Sabba- 
tarian reasoning, until Louise, on looking at her 
watch, exclaimed : Father, it is nearly noon ! 
Doctor Layton sent us to a place where he knew 
we would be tempted away from work. I meant 
to do something with Riibezahl this morning. I 
must go upstairs and ‘ tidy up ’ for dinner. I 
believe that is the Weecapaug term for making 
one’s toilette.” 

She went up to her room, and as a result of 
Weecapaug air and mental do/ce far niente she 
began to sing trills, scales, and impromptu ca- 
denzas, with her light, high voice which had been 
the despair of her Italian singing-master, with 
whom she had studied at one time in Milan. 
When she tried to sing a song to him he would 
scream : Nevahrr ! You have not z?je soul of zze 
singarr, nozzing but zze voice ! Trrrill Signorina ! 
Trrrill ! zzat is zze distanze of your knowledge of 
zze gareat arrrt ! ” Louise soon learned her vocal 
limitations, and took more pleasure in the things 
she could do than in those she could not. 

In her room that day she gave vent to physical 
buoyancy by trilling up and down the voice with 
an ease worthy of an early Italian vocalist. In the 
midst of her enjoyment a violent scurry of heavy 
feet was heard in the hall, followed by what 
sounded like a breathless knock on the door, and 
a sudden entrh made by Melissa, who looked 
greatly alarmed. 

‘‘ Be yu sick } ” she demanded. 


The Professor’s Daughter 91 

“ Sick ! ” exclaimed Louise in amazement. 
‘^No, indeed! I never felt better in my life.” 

Sure yu ain’t sick to yure stomic } Yu needn’t 
mind me. I ain’t no man,” said Melissa reassur- 
ingly. 

I assure you, Miss Stillman,” said Louise, 
nearly laughing, “ that I am perfectly well. What 
made you think I was sick ? ” 

“Why, them noises yu wus makin’ brung me 
flyin’. I ’lowed yu’s drefful sick to yure stomic 
an’ needed help. Sure yu ain’t The Doctor’s 
downstairs, an’ I’ll call him up.” 

Louise, biting her lips to keep back her laugh- 
ter, reiterated her previous assertion, adding the 
information that the noises were singing, at which 
Melissa stood still and stared, saying slowly : “ I 
want to know 1 ” 

As soon as the amazed woman was disposed of, 
Louise sat down on the bed, and, as nearly as she 
could, roared. She laughed and laughed, as peo- 
ple do to whom such expression is unusual, until 
the tears came. She rocked back and forth on the 
edge of the bed trying to control herself, but the 
laughter would come. 

Professor Fremont, sitting down below on the 
porch, remarked to Doctor Layton, who had dur- 
ing the last few moments joined him there : “ My 
dear Doctor, what can be the matter with my 
daughter.? I never heard her laugh in that way 
before. Can the trouble with her eyes be induc- 
ing hysteria — a disease which is peculiar to Amer- 
ican women, I understand .? ” 


92 


The Professor’s Daughter 


“Don’t you worry about Miss Fremont, Profes- 
sor,” replied Doctor Layton, almost laughing him- 
self from pure contagion. “ That’s the best medi- 
cine in the world for her. Is she in the room 
above I expect Melissa has been doing some 
farce comedy for her up there. I heard Melissy 
rush violently upstairs a moment ago. She her- 
self is a tonic to my patients when I send them 
down here for their health.” 

They resumed their conversation as Louise’s 
laughter subsided. Some fifteen minutes later, 
when she came out on the porch, her eyes looked 
as though she had been weeping. As she joined 
them she was sobered by seeing her father in an 
excited state, with a delicate flush on his white 
cheeks. He was shaking both of Doctor Layton’s 
hands eagerly, repeating as he did so: “Billy 
Everett’s nephew ! Billy Everett’s nephew ! 
What a surprise ! What a joy to me it will be to 
hear from him again!” On seeing Louise he 
childishly exclaimed : “ Louise, come quickly and 
hear the news ! Your physician is Billy Everett’s 
nephew, — one of his own name, — William Everett 
Layton ! ” 

“ That is good news, father. I am so glad for 
you! You know. Doctor Layton, my father has 
never forgotten his college chum during thirty 
years of separation.” 

She turned to Layton half apologetically as she 
said this ; then added : “ How did you make the 
discovery, father?” 

The Professor replied rapidly, still like a child 


The Professor's Daughter 93 

brimming over with news : “ ’Twas this way. He 
was telling me that this place is most attractive in 
winter-time also, and he said he always comes to 
Shannock to eat his Christmas dinner with his 
uncle, Mr. William Everett, his mother’s youngest 
brother, and I told him how familiar that name 
sounded to my ears, referring to my college chum, 
Billy Everett, from Pittsburg, which made him 
exclaim : ‘ My uncle was brought up there ; my 
grandfather moved out there to look after some 
manufacturing interests when Uncle William was 
a boy, but they all moved back here a year or so 
after Uncle Billy married ! ’ (he called him Uncle 
Billy, Louie! It sounded like old times, even 
with Uncle before it !) and then we compared 
notes ; and what do you think is the best part ? 
Billy Everett is now living in Shannock, and we 
are to arrange a meeting ! ” 

Louise had never before seen her father so ex- 
cited. His eyes fairly sparkled, and a new elas- 
ticity seemed to have come into his body. She 
put one arm up over his shoulder, and mechani- 
cally picked up the handkerchief he had dropped 
in his chair when he arose to meet her, as she 
gently led him back to it, saying as they moved : 

“ Father, dear, I am so glad for you I We must 
go over and see this gentleman. I did not know 
William was in your name. Doctor Layton. It 
only read Everett on the sign I saw on your office.” 

“ I never cared to part my name in the middle,” 
said the Doctor, watching her movements, ^^and 
my mother preferred that I should be called 


94 The Professor’s Daughter 

Everett, so after a while I dropped the William 
altogether.” 

Louise declined a chair, but took a seat on the 
edge of the porch, near her father, who held on to 
her hand as he related to them escapades of his 
college days in which Billy Everett was always the 
hero. In this new excitement Louise’s recent 
attack of hearty laughter was forgotten by her 
father, and nothing was said about it until, he hav- 
ing preceded them into the dining-room when the 
bell rang. Doctor Layton said to Louise : Are 
you finding out from Melissa how to laugh ” 

Immediately she was seized with another par- 
oxysm, the tears filling her eyes. 

** I — was — prac — ticing a shake — with — my 
voice,” she managed to reply, "‘and (Oh, I can’t 
tell you) she — came rushing in — to know if — I 
was ‘ sick to — my stomic ’ — I was making such 
strange noises. Shades of Signor Benvenuto! 
How he would blaspheme in poetic Italian — could 
he know his shake was mistaken — for seasickness.” 

Louise leaned against one side of the porch and 
the Doctor against the other, echoing each other’s 
laughter ; and after that duet of risibles they could 
never again be strangers to each other. 

Extreme grief or extreme laughter shared 
cements friendship as no words can ever do. 
Finally they composed themselves and went in to 
dinner; but all during the meal Doctor Layton 
would burst out into what, in a woman, would be 
called a giggle, without any apparent cause. 

When they were all seated, the door leading 


The Professor’s Daughter 


95 


into the kitchen opened, and a middle-aged farmer, 
in his shirt-sleeves, wearing a long, sandy beard 
and moustache, entered. Without saying a word, 
he walked over to a small mirror hung on the wall 
over a small stand, on which there always lay a 
comb and brush. These he took up, and began to 
use deliberately, combing out his hair and brush- 
ing his beard before he turned around, remarking 
as he faced about : Well, Melissy, Fm here, as 
usual o’ a Sunday. How’re yu. Doc? Glad to 
see yu in these parts al’ays.” 

As he took an extra plate set for him at the 
table, Melissa said diffidently : “ This be my 
brother, Jake, folks. He al’ays comes here fur 
his victuals on a Sunday.” 

Brother Jake was evidently a dominant spirit 
with a glib tongue and easy manner. Melissa 
seldom talked much when he was about, and when 
she did speak her tone was defiant. Later in 
their acquaintance she confided to Louise : “ It 
were al’ays nip an’ tuck between Jake an’ me. 
He’s got speeret; so’ve I; but he cal’lates to git 
all my money, when I die, fur his childern, so he 
iles his tongue more’n I does mine. ’Tain’t need- 
ful fur me to — I ain’t got no childern.” 

Jake Stillman and Doctor Layton kept up the 
conversation during the meal, with frequent inter- 
ruptions from Melissa in the way of attentions to 
the Doctor’s wants. 

** He’s my pet, yu know,” she explained to 
Louise, smiling. “ I know jus’ by his looks when 
he wants hugkleberry Johnnie cakes, so I went up 


96 The Professor’s Daughter 

on the hill an' picked a pailful o’ huckleberries 
before brekfus’ this mornin’, so’s to make him 
some.” 

After dinner, Doctor Layton rowed the Fre- 
monts down the Breach in the skiff in which he had 
come up, landing them on the side of the Breach 
still unknown to them, and acting as pilot through 
the rocks to the great cluster known as the Gull 
Rocks, where a natural formation had created a 
seat large enough for two people. Louise and her 
father took this seat, and the Doctor leaned against 
an adjacent rock. It was another smiling day, 
too clear for Indian summer, but without a trace 
of midsummer’s intensity. The gulls circled and 
recircled above their heads, not daring to descend 
for food at their accustomed place, now pre-empted. 

“ Shall I tell you a pretty bit of tradition con- 
cerning my own ancestry in its relation to this 
neighborhood } ” asked Layton, throwing white 
pebbles he had picked up, as they came along, into 
the foam made by the breakers as they threw 
themselves at the rocks below. 

The Fremonts assented with interest. 

Two hundred years ago the Narragansett and 
Niantic tribes wandered in aboriginal glory and 
freedom over this land, from Weecapaug Neck 
(upon which we now sit) to Shannock, which was 
their headquarters. Back on Melissa’s pasture by 
the ice-pond there is a tribe burying-ground. 
They were buried in war-paint and in full-dress 
attire. Sosoa was their hero chief, and their faith 
was spiritualistic ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 


97 


** Wait one moment, Doctor,” interrupted Pro- 
fessor Fremont. Is this an historical account 
you are giving ? Sosoa is an historical character 
in whose life I take great interest. ” 

“ The Indian part of my story is true ; whether 
the rest is fiction or not, I am not prepared to say. 
It is generally believed about here. Well, they 
worshipped spirits of Nature governed by a 
supreme deity called Kautantowit, who was sup- 
posed to have made the first human pair from 
a stone ; but becoming displeased with them, he 
destroyed them and made a second pair from a tree, 

and from that tree all mankind has sprung ” 

“ Ah ! ” once more interrupted Professor Fre- 
mont, pulling out a note-book. “ Louie, just 
make a note of that and its analogy to the Eden 
and flood myths. Pardon me. Doctor Layton; 
proceed with your interesting narrative. We are 
all attention.” 

“ The next chapter takes up a new set of char- 
acters, the two who were responsible for me and 
mine,” went on the Doctor, with a half-smile. 
“ At the point along the coast now called Newport 
there lived at that time a rich farmer, — I don’t 
believe he got a dollar a bushel for wheat, if he 
raised it, — whose choicest possession was a beau- 
tiful young daughter. 

One day along came what we would nowadays 
discourteously call a tramp, from the coast of Mas- 
sachusetts, looking for employment. My grand- 
parents hired him to work on the farm — which 
shows, to my mind, that the old man was not as 
7 


98 The Professor’s Daughter 


black as he was painted afterward. Anyway, 
William Everett, the first, went to work at digging 
potatoes (if they were in season), endeavoring to 
make himself generally useful, and at the same 
time set to work at stealing the affections of the 
beautiful daughter, Mary, who inherited her sire’s 
adamantine will.” 

‘‘ You would make fun even of your own grand- 
father,” interposed Louise. 

‘‘William, in time,” continued Layton, only 
glancing at her, “ proposed for the hand of Mary 
in due form, which raised a storm on the 
premises — ‘ a regular inside nor’easter,’ as 01 
would say. The sire stormed and raged, William 
begged and plead, while Mary wept piteously, I 
presume. 

“ The result was that one cold winter night the 
lovers set out to sea in an open boat, in which 
they rowed and floated and starved and froze for 
each other for several weeks (so the story goes), 
passing an unknown island (Block), when almost 
dead, for each other. Just before such a catas- 
trophe could occur a southerly wind sprung up, 
and in the young flood-tide they drifted into the 
harbor of the Shannock River, where they rowed 
ashore and were received by the friendly chief, 
Sosoa, who listened to their tale of parental bru- 
tality with sympathetic ears. He gave them 
shelter until the really fond parent had time to 
relent and bestow his blessing upon the birth of 
their child, the first white infant born in this part 
of Rhode Island, from whom sprang all of the dis- 


The Professor’s Daughter 


99 


tinguished Revolutionary heroes, and other local 
celebrities from whom I have the honor to be 
descended on my mother’s side.” 

He paused, then turned to Louise with : “ What 
do you think of the romantic Mary, Miss Fre- 
mont ? Do you approve of her deserting family 
and friends for the man of her choice, or do 
you think, with 01, that it would have been bet- 
ter to wait ^ till the spring o’ the year set in an’ 
the cold broke up ’ before venturing on an elope- 
ment ? ” 

I think she was a heartless girl to leave her 
father in that way for any man,” answered Louise, 
with some scorn for his flippant tone where so 
interesting and romantic a touch of family history 
was concerned. 

*'You don’t admire her bravery, then? Why, 
I’m more proud of their pluck than of anything 
else in the whole story,” said Layton, looking at 
her teasingly. 

It would certainly take a deal of bravery to 
marry any man about whom she had as little 
knowledge as she evidently had about the first 
William Everett,” replied Louise, looking directly 
at him. 

“Why, she had all she needed to know — that 
she loved him,” said Layton, skimming a shell 
over the water. 

“ Her love might have had to cover ‘ a multitude 
of sins ’ before she got through with him,” replied 
Louise. 

“ Then you could not care for a man who sinned 


loo The Professor’s Daughter 

according to your individual moral code?” asked 
Layton. 

“ I could not,” replied Louise decidedly. 

“ My daughter has yet to learn some things 
about charity, Doctor Layton — the charity that is 
kind for love’s sake,” said the Professor, laying 
his arm on Louise’s shoulder. It will all come 
in good time. The lessons of life are never all 
learned until we pass out of it, and no one has 
come back to tell the fulness of knowledge then. 
Tell me some more about the Indian tribes, spe- 
cially about the Sachem Sosoa, who certainly 
proved himself a friend in need to your ancestors.” 

They talked on for some time before rowing up 
the Breach. Layton parted from them at the 
porch with the understanding that 01 would be up 
for them that evening soon after sunset. Then 
he would take them all out to sea in the moon- 
light. 

Professor Fremont went immediately up to his 
room, for he was tired ; but Louise sat on the step 
of the porch, looking at the turquoise sky and feel- 
ing the air. 

When Layton reached the bridge he looked 
back, and taking off his hat, waved it to her until 
he succeeded in attracting her attention. In 
common courtesy she removed her own soft felt 
hat and returned his salute in similar fashion. 
Afterward she sat watching him row down the 
Breach in a perplexity of mind unusual and dis- 
comforting to her. She had always prided herself 
upon her intuitive and logical knowledge of what 


The Professors Daughter loi 

was best for her to do under any circumstances. 
Here was a new and perplexing situation to con- 
front. This man evidently desired to follow up 
a professional relation with a social acquaintance. 
This she never would have allowed, considering 
the kind of man, morally, she believed him to be, 
or to have been ; but now arose the complication 
of his family connection with her father’s friend, 
Mr. Everett, and her father’s immediate and un- 
usual drawing toward the man himself. 

She thought this all over many times, and finally 
decided that the situation must drift along for the 
present ; but at any time she could go back to New 
York if he actually did come to Weecapaug for the 
month of October ; and, more than that, she need 
only be civil to him — acquaintance did not ne- 
cessitate friendship; with which conclusion she 
started upstairs, turning to look once more at the 
sea and dunes toward which the figure in the boat 
was approaching. 


EIGHTH CHAPTER 


Moonlight is the soul of Nature; the moon 
her aureole. It is the exquisite spirit of things 
devoid of the warmth and deformities of flesh. 
All beings are idealized in the moonlight. An 
ugly woman is uglier in the light of the sun, but 
the moon brings out whatever slight perfection her 
face may contain, screening the defects, while a 
beautiful woman is perfected under its idealizing 
influence. 

That Sunday night at Weecapaug, as Louise 
Fremont sat in the stern of the small boat, in the 
moonlight, with the end of a long cape thrown over 
her head. Doctor Layton, looking at her there as 
he rowed with Ol, thought he had never before 
seen a woman whose face as nearly resembled 
Guido Reni’s Mater Dolorosa; the lines of will 
were softened, the pensive melancholy of night 
had entered into her expression; she looked as 
though she were intended to. be worshipped, not 
loved; her being seemed too remote to attract 
earthly passion. 

Of herself she was totally unconscious, which 
enhanced her charm to the three men who from 
such different standpoints of life met in reverence 
of woman’s purity. The moon was still young, 
and at that early evening hour was well up into 


The Professor’s Daughter 103 

the zenith, throwing a gleaming silver path across 
the Breach. 

Few words were spoken between them at first; 
there was an instinctive silence. Ol’s native 
refinement was constantly evinced by his knowl- 
edge of when to keep silent. Presently Louise 
said slowly : “ Do you wonder that the Indians 
worshipped the moon, considering their lack of 
subjective comprehension.^ It is so much easier 
to worship an object, — something one can grasp, 
if only with a single sense.” 

“No, it is no wonder,” replied Layton; “and 
for that very reason the Catholic Church will out- 
live all other Christian churches, unless human 
nature changes. The average man must have at 
least a symbol to worship ; he is not granted the 
highest reasoning faculties, and so he must feel 
his God through some natural expression, — some 
form, — or he loses him altogether. The pagans 
only worshipped Luna as a representative of 
Zeus. ” 

“ Yes, Doctor Layton,” interposed the Professor, 
“ but did they in truth worship the moon as a 
symbol ? They held her* to be all-powerful ; they 
prayed to her not as^a mediator, but as a source of 
benefaction or destruction. The moon has a won- 
derful power over man’s imagination ” 

“You don’t know nothin’ ’bout how powerful 
she be,” interrupted 01. “ She’s the biggest 

power there be on earth ! I can’t make you sen- 
sible o’ it ! Did you ever go to sleep on deck o’ a 
fishin’ smack in the moonlight.? Jus’ you try it. 


104 The Professor’s Daughter 

Once I did, an’ waked up’s near a lunatic’s I could 
be to git over it. ” 

^^Tell them about that, 01,” said Layton. 

As I were sayin’, it were terrible hot, an’ we 
wus driftin’ up the Sound, without more breeze’n 
a ripple, an’ from choice I went to sleep right on 
deck for’ard. A1 Hepburn, my mate, waked me 
up by shakin’ o’ me hard, sayin’ ; ‘ You fool ! Do 
you cal’late to git moonstruck.^ Git out o’ this ! ’ 
I heard them words, but not a guggle even could 
I git out o’ my mouth. He hauled me up to my 
feet, standin’, an’ I ’low I carried on same’s a fool 
’th drink. I never were drunk, but I felt the 
same’s them as drinks looks. My head wouldn’t 
work any more’n a donkey’s, an’ I wa’n’t right 
again till mornin’. Did you know the moon’d 
spile a mess o’ fish layin’ out in it sooner’n sun 
do ? If we’d ketch a mess now, an’ lay ’em out 
yonder on the sand, they’d be spilt before 
mornin’.” 

“How remarkable!” exclaimed Professor Fre- 
mont. “ I had no idea of such a thing 1 ” 

“ Stiddy, now, Doc,” said 01 ; “ when I says 
‘ pull,’ do it. There be plenty o’ time between 
the nex’ two, I cal’ late. ” 

They had reached the bar where even in so quiet 
a sea the water made into breakers that reared and 
curved, showing at night a black breast before 
they broke. 01 watched his chance and took his 
boat easily along through a heavy sea out into the 
more quiet waters beyond. The summer cot- 
tagers and many of the neighborhood people inti- 


The Professor’s Daughter 105 

mated that Ol’s courage was overbalanced by cau- 
tion, because he would not go out fishing through 
those breakers on the bar when they became 
savage. 

His invariable reply was : ” Life’s wuth more’n 
darin’ ; not ’at I wouldn’t row through them 
breakers if ’twas to save a person from drownin’, 
but some folks does things ’cause they don’t know 
nothin’ ’bout the sight o’ danger they’s in. My 
way’s to face about if you know you can’t git 
through, an’ wait till you can, if there ain’t no 
hurry. When hurry comes. I’ll be there if I’m 
alive, an’ it’s jus’ the same ’th principles as 
fishin’. ” 

They rowed about half a mile out to sea and 
back again. 01 told them stories of the wrecks 
along the beach, pointing out as they neared land 
the ghostly figure of the solitary patrol from the 
life-saving station, whose beat led him as far west 
as Gull Rocks. After they had recrossed the bar, 
01 looked back over his shoulder. Suddenly he 
dropped his oars in front of him, exclaiming : ** Lay 
low ! What do you see there. Doc ? See, by the 
rocks!” 

Layton took the same attitude, replying : “ It 
can’t be a schooner thrown up on the rocks, or we 
would have seen it coming in, — but it looks like a 
small vessel smoking and burning.” 

** It’s the ship. Doc. Don’t stir. I’ve seed it 
twice before. See ! it’s began to float off to Block 
Island! Don’t anybody speak a word. It’s the 
haunted ship ! ” 


io6 The Professor’s Daughter 

His voice was hoarse as he whispered, and his 
face grew white while he stared at the light, as 
though suddenly petrified. Louise felt her heart 
beat, for his terror was contagious, and she, too, 
saw a light which grew brighter as it moved out to 
sea. The radiance changed in moving into a rosy 
effulgence, lifting and floating as it moved rapidly. 
As they sat there watching in silence, it seemed 
to settle on some spot far out at sea and disap- 
pear. 

“What is the illumination. Doctor Layton.^” 
asked the Professor. “ Is it not some unusual 
mirage of phosphorescence } ” 

“ The general opinion is that it must be caused 
by some unusual atmospheric condition. It is 
always followed by violent weather. I have never 
seen it before, and scarcely credited the tale,’' 
replied Layton, taking up his oars and beginning 
to row. 

“ It’s the hanted ship, I tell you, folks. When 
yu’re on the island it looks to begin there and 
stop over here; on this side, it seems as if it 
starts out yonder an’ stops when it reaches where 
them folks wus murdered by them pirates.” 

He had begun to row again, but his bold stroke 
had lost its accustomed vigor. He believed and 
was cowed by the supernatural. 

When they reached the camp. Doctor Layton 
said : “You get out, 01, and fix up the bunks ready 
for the night, while I take our friends up to the 
bridge. I’ll be ready to turn in as soon as I 
come back, for I must be off early in the morning 


The Professor’s Daughter 107 

to catch the express to town. I have a surgical 
case at two o’clock to-morrow.” 

01 got out in silence ; but before they started 
off he said: “Good-night to yu folks. I’ll be 
’long at the bridge to-morrow at two to carry yu 
up the pond — if I’m alive.” 

“ He will not sleep much to-night, but he is 
better off thinking about my comfort than at any- 
thing else,” said Layton. “ It is his one weak- 
ness, — an inherited belief and fear of the super- 
natural. He is the bravest man physically and 
morally I ever knew, but, as you see, he becomes 
a child when facing the unexplainable. Have you 
begun to realize his goodness yet.^^ Why, that 
man unconsciously does more good in this neigh- 
borhood than all the rest put together. He 
does right for right’s sake, and his standard is 
impregnable. Just think of it! Although he 
was brought up among a carousing, drinking lot, 
he has never tasted liquor. After the Clarkes 
took him his influences were better but “his 
father was a common drunkard, and 01 learned 
a lesson from him. Nor will he permit any 
drinking on his beach. During the season, on 
Saturdays and Sundays, men, boys, and women 
come down here for the day from Shannock. 
They know they have to behave themselves on the 
sandy beach or 01 will send them home by force 
of might, if right will not avail. He will not take 
a married woman into his boat unless her husband 
is along. He says * keepin’ company ’th married 
women ain’t no decent fellar’s bizness. ’ He is 


io8 The Professor’s Daughter 


really the most straight-laced individual of my 
acquaintance. It is his example that does the 
work. He never wastes words, you notice. 01 
has been the best influence my life has known 
since my mother died, twenty years ago.” 

One of Nature’s noblemen the fisherman must 
be. Doctor Layton. I congratulate you on such a 
friendship,” said the Professor. 

“ Father,” Louise exclaimed, “ I have found my 
ideal, — just what you said I never would do, — a 
spotless man ! ” 

“Your ideal at the present moment, my dear. 
Though a man’s virtue is the best part of him, it 
does not comprise his entire being; the mental 
development and many other things are to be con- 
sidered in communion with human beings,” he 
replied. 

“ It is too late to begin an argument, but I 
repeat that I have found my ideal.” 

“ Consider his grammar ” 

“Now don’t begin to pick him to pieces, — I 
won’t hear it ! ” interrupted his daughter, half 
laughing. 

“You couldn’t find a better ideal. Miss Fre- 
mont. Let him do you all the good he can. The 
first lesson he teaches is charity for those less 
endowed with strength than himself,” said Layton. 
“ Good-by, I must say.” He assisted her out of 
the boat. “ I go at six in the morning, but I shall 
be here again next Sunday for my long vacation, 
when I hope we may enjoy this place together. 
To-morrow, when I go up to Shannock, I’ll leave 


The Professor’s Daughter 109 

a note for Uncle Billy, Professor Fremont. He 
is away on a visit at present, but I expect him 
home this week. The first thing he will do after 
reading my note will be to come down to see you, 
so be on the lookout for him. Good-night again.” 

Layton looked extremely well as he stood un- 
covered in the boat, leaning against a long oar 
which he had driven into the sand in order to 
steady the dory. He was always powerful and 
magnetic, but that night there seemed a steadier 
light in his eyes and a stronger purpose in his 
manner. Louise felt this, but was baffled when 
she tried to analyze it, as was her habit with 
everything new to her. As Layton moved off, he 
called back : “ Professor, see that my patient obeys 
orders.” 

“ I will enforce the law, Doctor,” replied Pro- 
fessor Fremont, leaning against his daughter as 
they stood ; then he added with less voice : I am 
tired, Louie. I wonder if I have done too much 
to-day.” 

By the next day a nor’easter had brewed, pre- 
venting the row up the pond; but the Fremonts 
were made comfortable in the house by the log-fire 
in what Melissa called “the livin’ room,” — the 
long-unused parlor. They did some work, but 
Melissa’s sociability impeded their progress. She 
would come in at frequent intervals, ostensibly to 
feed the fire with snapping logs and driftwood ; in 
reality to talk. 

Consequently, in self-defence they discussed the 
apparition of the night previous and the immediate 


1 1 o The Professor's Daughter 

following of rough weather ; they philosophized at 
length over the phenomenon of Oliver Peckham’s 
moral development from amid such hereditary sur- 
roundings. The Professor told more interesting 
stories about Billy Everett, and tried to discuss 
that gentleman’s nephew, but Louise was so ut- 
terly unresponsive when he mentioned anything 
about Doctor Layton that the subject was dropped 
at once. 

These two were rarely at a loss for conversa- 
tional food, their companionship was so closely 
woven with sympathy and affection. For two 
days and nights the rain fell and poured, fell and 
poured, as though the heavens were telling all 
their sorrows and wrath at once. The wind 
whipped and drove the rain before it, howling and 
shrieking in a chorus of angry and imploring 
voices of tortured souls, then sank back into a 
piteous moan as it gathered strength from the 
northeast for more ungodly yells. The house 
shook and rocked, the timbers creaked, and the 
collie, who tried to sleep by the fire, shivered and 
whined at each repeated attack of the wind. 

When the second day of this weather came, 
Louise was depressed. She could not settle upon 
any one thing as occupation either for her hands 
or mind. At about four o’clock she stood at the 
window peering out into the driving storm, when 
she saw a tall figure which seemed to spring up from 
the ground at a short distance from the house. 

She went into the dining-room for a better 
view, and was met at the door by 01, covered from 


The Professor’s Daughter 1 1 1 

head to foot by his sou’ westers, otherwise tar- 
paulins, still otherwise ilers. 

“ You didn’t expec’ me, gurl, did you ! ” he 
said, catching sight of her as he opened the door. 
“ Give me a minute to take off these drippin’ ilers 
an’ I’ll be back.” 

“Where did you come from.!* You must be 
wet through.” 

“ Nary a bit. Jus’ you wait,” he replied, going 
into the kitchen and closing the' door. He came 
back, still wearing the rubber boots, but the 
“ilers” had been hung up to dry in the kitchen. 
“ Now I’ll be with you soon’s I git my pail o’ fish 
outside. I were thinkin’ yu’d like some fur yure 
supper this damp day. ” 

He carried the fish out to the kitchen and called 
Melissa from upstairs to take charge of them. 
Louise waited for him, and they joined her father 
together. She looked so white beside his brown 
face that her pallor seemed unearthly by contrast. 

“ Here is 01, father,” she said, unconsciously 
calling him by the name already grown familiar to 
her ears. “ He swam, or waded, or in some way 
got here, — just to bring us some fish for supper.” 

“ That was good of you, my man, ” said the Pro- 
fessor, laying down a book and removing his 
glasses. 

“’Twa’n’t good a bit,” replied 01. “ ’Twere’s 

natchrel’s life. I ’lowed to take yu rowin’ yista- 
day, an’s long’s I couldn’t make out to do it 
against the weather I jus’ come up to see if you's 
livin’ through it. Ain’t it turrible.!* Gui ! I 


1 1 2 The Professor’s Daughter 

never did see a worse night’n las’ were ! It’s 
al’ays so follerin’ the haunted ship we see the 
other night. I’m feard lest Doc got ketched in 
the worst o’ it yistaday. It started up sort o’ 
easy in the middle o’ the night.” 

“ Do you suppose he did ? ” asked Louise. 

“ Can’t say, but jus’ ’s like’s not he were 
ketched. He were real mulish ’bout goin’s early’s 
five o’clock in the rain an’ stoppin’ to give Ann 
Randall another call. She asked him to come 
again, declarin’ she’d not live till next Sunday, 
so stop he would. The Lord Hisself couldn’t 
stop Doc from doin’ good oncet he sets his mind 
on it.” 

“ Every one seems to speak well of him in this 
neighborhood,” commented the Professor. 

“ Land sakes ! yes ! they’d better jus’ ! He 
does ’nough fur ’em. Even’s long back’s when 
his woman were alive she couldn’t stop his cornin’ 
down here’n livin’ with his friends — an’ she tried 
hard.” 

“ Has Doctor Layton’s wife been deceased 
long.^” asked Professor Fremont. 

Dead, you mean } Coin’ on five years about, 
an’ I only wish it had been ten instid, then he’d 
never know’d her an’ been that much better off. 
Wa’n’t you folks acquainted ’th her ? ” 

“ No, we were not,” replied the Professor, who 
did not wish to appear inquisitive, but was un- 
doubtedly interested in knowing more about Dr. 
Everett Layton. 

‘‘ You wus jus’ ’swell of, then. In all the length 


The Professor's Daughter 1 1 3 

o’ my days I never did jus’ despise but two folks; 
an’ she’s one o’ ’em.” 

“ But why, Oliver ? ” asked the Professor. 

What was the matter with the lady ? ” 

“ She wa’n’t no lady. She were jus’ some pretty 
hide coverin’ bones an’ stomic an’ other things, — 
but not no heart ; every soul round here knows it, 
— ’tain’t no secret I’m tellin’ o’ you. A real lady 
knows folks when she furst lays eyes on ’em. She 
didn’t ; an’ when he furst brung her down here she 
stuck up her nose at the hull plantation. It jus’ 
tuckered me all out to see how mad she’d make 
him treatin’ his friends so. We took her along 
o’ us in the boat one day up the pond, an’ she 
said’s how the boat were nasty! ‘ Everett,’ says 
she, ‘ how can you stan’ the place an’ the people ? 
Yure tastes is low. I’m feard. This here boat 
smells o’ dead fish (’s though we killed ’em an’ 
left ’em in the boat), an’ that woman at the house 
(meanin’ Melissy) be too awful fur words. I mus’ 
go home to-morrow, Everett. ’ ” 

Oliver put on the most comically finicky airs of 
a distressed fine lady, using a falsetto voice and 
screwing up his nose. Doc tole her she might 
go home any time she had a mind to, but he pur- 
posed to stay ; an’ she went the very next day. ” 
“But, Oliver, would you despise a person be- 
cause she was not a lady at heart, — which she 
could not have been.? ” asked Louise. 

“ That wa’n’t all,” replied 01, shaking his head. 
“ Her principles wus all wrong, ’cordin’ to my way 
o’ thinkin’. She never showed her face again till 
8 


1 14 The Professor’s Daughter 

the nex’ year, when she come up behind me when 
I were mendin’ a net down at the camp ; an’ says 
she, smilin’ sweet’s honey : ‘ This be Oliver, ain’t 
it ? ’ Says I : ' Yes ; how be you ? Where’s Doc ? ’ 
* Oh, he couldn’t get down ’long o’ me; he’ll 
come later. Will you do me a paticuler favor, 
Oliver.^ I’ve got a friend cornin’ down to-morrow 
on the early train. If I pay you for it won’t you 
go up to Shannock an’ carry him over here ^ Miss 
Stillman (meanin’ Melissy) ’ll let him stay fur 
dinner to her house, an’ you can carry him back 
the same night.’ I jus’ looked at her real hard, 
an’ says I, ‘ Men folks or women folks, Mrs. Lay- 
ton.^ ’ * Oh, he be a great friend o’ ours in town,’ 

says she. ‘ We want him to see yure beautiful 
home y ‘Is that so ^ ’ says I, lookin’ harder yet 
at her. ‘ He’ll never see this beautiful home 
without Doc’s here to introduce it to him, — nor 
any other man you bring down here, if it’s at all 
dependable on me to carry him over.’ 

“ Then if you could ha’ heard her light into me 
fur my impidence an’ low-downness ! I al’ays 
finds when folks be doin’ wrong they calls other 
folks names. She couldn’t get any one to carry 
him down from here (I seen to that) ; but he come 
jus’ the same, in a team from Shannock, an’ had 
to pay fur it by the day, — but they never tried it 
again. I never tole Doc ’bout it — I wouldn’t 
hurt his feelin’s; but I asked him if he had a 
friend o’ that name, an’ he said, lookin’ real harsh : 
‘ No, I ain’t got no friend, but I’ve got an enemy. 
Where’d you hear the name ? ’ I turned it off 


The Professor's Daughter 1 1 5 

somehow, an’ he never asked no more; but I 
knowed without his tollin’ me that his woman 
were spilin’ his life. 

“’Tain’t no secret I’m tollin’ o’ you, — all the 
folks knows ’bout it here, an’ I can’t let you believe 
none o’ them city lies ’bout him.” 

He paused. Neither the Professor nor Louise 
knew what to say, but silence never disconcerted 
Oliver, — he was used to it. In a moment or two 
he continued : “ One o’ his patients says before 
me oncet as Doc were unkind to his woman. Says 
I, * Take that back, or 01 Peckham’ll make you,’ 
— an’ he took it. Unkind! Why, Doc couldn’t 
be unkind to the devil hisself 1 He’s got more 
heart’n’s good fur him plenty o’ times, an’ I don’t 
know’s city folks sees the inside o’ a fellar ever. 
Doc only shows ’em the outside. He ain’t got 
much use fur ’em. That woman o’ his’n spread 
lies ’bout him, too, but he jus’ let her talk, an’ 
didn’t say no word hisself. Mister Professor, I’ll 
thank you to say them lines again ’bout the hanted 
ship. I like to hear ’em. Po’try an’ singin’ be 
the next bes’ sounds to waves to me.” 

The Professor complied with his request, and 
never before had the poem appealed to him as 
then; the wind, having died down, only moaned 
occasionally, and the fisherman sat in the early 
twilight listening with all the enthusiasm of faith. 

When he finished the rhythmic story, 01 said 
impressively : “ It’s every word o’ it true’s Gospel. 
Thank you fur sayin’ it. I mus’ be goin’. Look 
out, gurl, an’ see the clouds breakin’ away. They 


ii6 The Professor’s Daughter 

wus liftin’ when I come, an’ the moon’ll break ’em 
all up. By mornin’ the wind’ll be ’round to the 
no’th’rd, an’ you’ll have to git out yure winter 
clothes. Will you come down an’ see the breakers 
in the mornin’, if it clears ? They’ll be mountain 
high after the storm.” 

They gladly accepted his invitation; then he 
went out into the kitchen, where they heard him 
talking to Melissa in an animated manner for some 
time afterward. 

Wednesday morning broke clear and cold, with 
the wind to the north, as Oliver had predicted. 
The Fremonts went down to the beach and 
watched with awe the monster waves leap and 
throw themselves on the rocks, — a fortress which 
has withstood their assaults from the beginning of 
time. Will they never know this, and rest ? Not 
until the elemental feud is settled for all time, 
when all Nature is at eternal peace. 

In the afternoon Professor Fremont insisted 
that he could not go out again that day for fear 
Billy Everett might drive over during his absence. 
He would occupy himself with work, and Louise 
must go rowing alone with 01, who was between 
seasons, as far as work was concerned, the summer 
fishing having come to an end and the big autumn 
run of fish not on yet. 

That afternoon 01 told Louise a great deal 
about the neighborhood people. She was specially 
interested in Melissa’s romance. 01 told the 
story in this way : 

Melissy wa’n’t more’n nineteen when a vessel 


The Professor’s Daughter 117 

were wrecked ’bout half a mile up the beach. 
’Twere a fearful night, an’ all wus lost ’ceptin’ 
some spars three sailors floated ashore on, an’ 
some carpets an’ things belongin’ to the cabin. 
Them sailors wus took care o’ by the neighbors. 
Ole man Stillman took in one called Bill French. 
Well, Bill an’ Melissy kind o’ made it up between 
’em to keep company ; but the ole man, who al’ays 
did have more tongue’n sense, heard ’em talkin’ 
together ’bout gettin’ married one time in the 
orchard, where they wus mootchin, an’ didn’t know 
he were round. The ole man took a cowhide and 
lammed Bill all round the place, with Melissy 
yellin’ at him to stop ; an’ after that nothin’ more 
were heard o’ Bill French. Skipped out, ’twere 
supposed, — afeared o’ ole Stillman.” 

“ Poor Melissa ! ” said Louise, her voice full of 
sympathy ; I never thought of her as having had 
a romance.” 

They’s all had ’em, or they’s bound to come,” 
replied 01 calmly. “ Lovin’s a kind o’ sickness 
’tain’t easy to give the slip ; an’ if folks does, they’s 
al’ays sorry they didn’t ketch it. Just look at it ! 
There’s my man as cooks fur me in the summer 
season an’ does chores fur Jake Stillman in winter- 
time. He’s keepin’ company ’th the schoolmarm, 
an’ together they ain’t got more’n forty-two dollars 
a month, an’ jus’ yistaday he were tellin’ me they 
’lows they’ll get married in the spring. Jim ain’t 
got nothin’ but love, an’ the schoolmarm ain’t got 
nothin’ but love, so I cal’late they’ll have to live 
on it a while.” 


1 1 8 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ How much did you say they make between 
them,” asked Louise, in serious dismay at such a 
foolhardy proceeding. 

“ He gets twenty dollars a month an’ his livin’ 
as hired help to Stillman, an’ she gets twenty-four 
dollars a month school-teachin’ in the winter 
time.” 

“ I think it is outrageous for people to marry 
on so little ! Why don’t they wait until they are 
doing better, and have more money to begin on ” 

“They’d like’s not die a-waitin’ before they’d 
get hitched. It’s the love o’ each other as gives 
’em ambition to keep a-goin’.” 

“Then you think, 01, that love makes people 
better.?” 

“ Better ! Why, land sakes ! It makes ’em all 
they be or ever will be. I ain’t used to speakin’ 
’bout them things, gurl, an’ I don’t know nothin’ 
’bout how to say it, but it’s jus’ this way: they’d 
all be like them critters over there in the pasture 
chewin’ their cud, waitin’ fur folks to milk their 
tits fur ’em, without no ambition to do fur their- 
selves if there wa’n’t that power inside folks ’at 
stirs some o’ them up worse’n a hornet do, to be 
sure, but mostly it’s jus’ gives ’em ambition fur to 
keep along theirselves because that’ll keep along 
the others; well, course some o’ ’em goes it all 
alone better’n in partnership, same’s me an’ you; 
but it’s al’ays fur the reason they ain’t found the 
right partner. ” 

“ If you feel that way about it, why don’t you 
marry, 01 .? ” 


The Professor's Daughter 119 

‘‘ Me ! Me hitch ? Ah, now, I loves the 
women folks all too powerful well to settle to one. 
rd have to be a A-rab or a Turkey or whatever 
they’re named, where the law ’lows a house full o’ 
’em at one time,” laughed 01. 

“ Why, Oliver, you surprise me by such talk ! ” 
exclaimed Louise, looking at him in suspicion. 
“ Doctor Layton says you are the best man morally 
that he ever knew.” 

“ Well, now, gurl, I ’low my principles be 
some’at better’n my speech. ” 

With this kind of conversation they helped time 
along, when they talked at all; but Louise soon 
found that 01 did not expect to be entertained in 
return for his entertainment. He had refused her 
offer of payment for the boating with fine scorn. 
During that week she was happy in a way new to 
her. Not for years had she spent days devoid of 
mental industry, and she found this enforced idle- 
ness growing more agreeable instead of tiresome 
as the week passed. By the end of the week she 
felt younger. The Professor held his resolution 
to remain at home during the afternoons, in hopes 
of seeing Billy Everett ; but up to Saturday that 
gentleman had disappointed him. Louise told her 
father she was beginning to feel picturesque her- 
self according to the law of association, and the 
feeling was novel and agreeable. 


NINTH CHAPTER 


On Saturday afternoon, the Professor having 
persisted in his determination to remain at the 
house working and writing, Louise, wearing a sun- 
bonnet of Melissa’s on her head to protect her eyes 
from the glare of the water, went with Oliver out- 
side half a mile, where he was to initiate her into 
the delights of deep-sea fishing. She had always 
been a good sailor, and naturally this fact added to 
his pleasure in taking her, for, as 01 said : “ Them’s 
ain’t sure ’bout their stomics better stay to hum.” 

Professor Fremont was a man who could not 
outlive the strength of early ties. The friends of 
his later life were never to him what the friends 
of his youth had been. Unlike Louise, he enjoyed 
all kinds of people when they did not intrude upon 
what he called his special work, — in reality his 
diversion, a gratification of his native tastes for 
erudition, — but he loved few. 

This afternoon he seated himself on the porch, 
wearing the velvet smoking- jacket and the soft felt 
hat pulled down to shade his eyes as he turned 
over the leaves of the Iliad, searching for a 
particular passage whose literal construction his 
memory had lost. He heard a team coming along 
the road from Shannock, and, as is customary with 
city people, who after a short residence in the 


The Professor’s Daughter 121 

country acquire the native curiosity about the 
occupants of teams, he looked up to see who was 
passing. No one passed. The team seemed to 
have stopped on the other side of the house, likely 
by the barn. 

The Professor resumed his search. Presently 
footsteps were heard coming around the house 
toward the porch. Professor Fremont looked up 
again, lowering his reading-glasses on his nose so 
that he might get a better view over their rims. 
An elderly gentleman was approaching, — a man 
with a determined stride, a corpulent figure, a 
broad chest, the reddish skin of a high- liver grow- 
ing a trifle gouty, and wearing eye-glasses on a 
well-developed nose in front of sea-blue eyes like 
Doctor Layton’s. The men looked at each other. 

The newcomer said : “ Will you be kind enough 
to tell me if Professor Thomas Fremont is stay- 
ing ” 

“ Billy Everett ! ” called out the Professor, 
throwing down his book and handkerchief as he 
arose with outstretched hand. “ Billy, don’t you 
know me? It’s your voice and eyes! They 
haven’t changed a particle 1 ” 

The other said Tom I ” as their hands met, 
and wonder at the change thirty years had made 
in each other’s appearance was forgotten as they 
stood clasping hands and renewing acquaintance 
through the eyes which may grow dim, but never 
lose their personality for a friend. 

They continued to look for a moment longer; 
then Mr. Everett said, still shaking his friend’s 


122 The Professor’s Daughter 

hand in both of his : “ Tom, I’d given up seeing 
you again in this life.” 

I answered your last letter, written from Pitts- 
burg, and wrote twice more to the same address 
when I received no reply, but never heard from 
you again, nor could I find out anything about you 
through Chickey Downey or Bob Wilson or any of 
the fellows I saw at the class reunion. Why 
weren’t you there ? ” replied the Professor, falling 
into college phraseology, which rang its note of 
pathos through this voice, touched with age. 

“ I never received the letters, Tom. I didn’t 
live in Pittsburg long, and about that time things 
weren’t very bright with me ; my chief desire was 
to get away from people, — but here, let me take a 
chair. I’m getting too old to stand, and I’ll tell 
you all about myself. But where’s your daughter } 
Everett wrote that Professor Fremont was down 
at the beach with a grown-up daughter. Time is 
flying, Tom; it is hard to realize the grown-up 
daughter.” 

“ My daughter is my sunshine, Billy. I hope 
you have one, too, and a son to be proud of.” 

‘‘No, Tom; I’m alone in the world. Everett 
Layton is as good as a son (or younger brother) to 
me, but he is not the real thing. No son could be 
more dutiful and kind than he is, though. Where 
is your daughter.? I must see her.” 

“ She has gone fishing with the fisherman, 
Oliver Peckham. Don’t you see their boat 
anchored out there.? I haven’t my far-sighted 
glasses here.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 123 

** Yes, I see a boat off in a line with the dune,” 
said Everett, adjusting his glasses. “ Ol’s a great 
character, isn’t he ^ But here, I am wasting time. 
Tell me what you have been doing since we parted 
under the Washington elm that hot day thirty 
years ago or more. Thirty years ! Tom, think 
of it ! Thirty years ! No wonder we did not 
recognize each other at a first glance. I’d know” 
you anywhere now! You’re thinner, your hair is 
turned, and the spectacles make a change, but I’d 
know you anywhere when that hat is put back off 
your face.” 

- You’re not so very much changed, either,” 
said the Professor, looking him carefully over. 

A little stouter, perhaps ” 

“ Fatter, you mean, — say it out. Fat’s the 
word ! ” interrupted Everett, with an echo of 
Doctor Layton’s laugh. 

Well, fatter, — if that suits you better, — a little 
more color in the face, and the hair, — how’s the 
hair, Billy You were calling on a hair-tonic lady 
at frequent intervals, I remember, in the old days.” 

. “ There isn’t much to speak of, and none to 
spare. I have to take a hand-mirror to see what’s 
left myself. I’m afraid you’ll have to get your 
other glasses to see even that.” He took off his 
hat, disclosing a bald head, extending back to the 
crown. The sides and back were covered with 
what was left of his thick, wavy dark hair, which 
had been the pride of his youthful good looks, and 
was still apparent in his military mustache. 

‘‘Never mind that, Billy. Your strength was 


1 24 The Professor’s Daughter 


never entirely in your hair,” replied his friend. 
‘^Now I must tell you all about myself. You 
knew of my marriage, though you couldn’t be 
present at the wedding. Let me see, — it was soon 
after the wedding I wrote that last letter. I 
thought your wedding or mine would bring us 
together again if nothing else could. 

” Ah, Billy ! you bring those times back to me 
forcibly. Mary and I were so happy, Billy. 
Though she soon left me for the land of mystery, 
our few years together were compensation for all 
the years of loneliness since. She was an angel, 
— she was my wife, my friend, my daily com- 
panion. Marriage was more than I expected it to 
be. You remember how cynical we used to be 
about that state } I found we were mistaken ; and 
when Mary left me I thought I could not live 
alone; but time softens everything, Billy, — even 
the saddest. Time and our God-given power of 
forgetting. How could we live if we could not 
forget the worst pangs of separation from those 
we love } ” 

The Professor shaded his eyes with one hand, 
and Mr. Everett walked to the end of the porch 
and back. “ Since then my little girl has taken 
her place. My sister kept house for me until 
Louie was nearly grown, when she died, after 
which Louie took the reins herself, and has been 
all that a daughter could be. When I inherited 
some money from my father I gave up my profes- 
sorship, and we have lived since then indepen- 
dently and happily, travelling most of the time in 


The Professor’s Daughter 125 

Europe, where I went to collect material for a 
literary project I have on hand.” 

When the Professor ceased speaking, Mr. 
Everett coughed slightly, and said with a long 
sigh : 

It has been a good and useful life. You have 
the greatest joy of old age left to you, Tom, — 
happy recollections.” 

** Have you not those, Billy ? With your joyous 
nature, one would have supposed your life would 
have been one long holiday. And your wife ^ I 
think you said you were alone } ” asked he tenta- 
tively. 

“ My wife } My wife ^ ” replied Everett bit- 
terly. But of course you don’t know. I’ve 
never talked to any one about her, Tom, — not 
even to Everett, — but I believe it would relieve 
me to speak to you.” 

“ Do as you feel about that, Billy.” 

I married a fashionable city girl. We had, to 
please her, one of those big, sensational weddings, 
on a par with a circus. I gave her my entire 
affection, Tom, — I fairly worshipped her for a year 
after our marriage, even when I saw her selfishness 
and lack of character, which she could not hide 
after we were man and wife. At the end of two 
years she eloped with a man who promised to 
marry her if I divorced her, which I did, but the 
cad deserted her. Then she wrote to me for help. 
I supported her at a distance for five years, — I 
could not see her again ; my love had turned to 
wormwood and gall, and still the memory of her 


126 The Professor’s Daughter 

fascinates me to this day as no other woman can 
do. But at the end of that time she died. Mar- 
riage proved a failure to me. I found some verses 
the other day, Tom, that echoed my sentiments. 

He pulled out a bill-book from his breast pocket 
from which he took a clipping, and read : 

‘ ‘ Oh happier he who gains not 
The love some seem to gain ; 

The joy that custom stains not 
Shall still with him remain ; 

The loveliness that wanes not 
The love that ne’er can wane. 

‘ ‘ In dreams she grows not older, 

The land of dreams among, 

Though all the world wax colder. 

Though all the songs be sung ; 

In dreams doth he behold her 
Still fair and kind and young, ’ ’ 

When he had finished reading and had replaced 
the book, he looked up to see the Professor pick- 
ing up a handkerchief from off the porch and 
covertly applying it to his eyes. He then leaned 
across to Billy Everett with his hand extended. 
They clasped hands once more in silence. Pres- 
ently the Professor said : ‘‘ I have much to be 
grateful for in my own life when I hear your 
story, dear friend. Will you permit Louie and 
me to help you to forget.^ Your nephew insists 
upon our remaining down here during October on 
account of my daughter’s health, which he con- 
siders delicate, and the greatest happiness I could 
know would be a renewal of our old companion- 
ship. Billy, do you remember the day we tied tin 


The Professor’s Daughter 1 27 

pails to the tails of some cats we had collected, 
then turned them loose in old Bumble-Bee’s Greek 
recitation ? ” 

“Yes; wasn’t he in a devil of a humor? And 
do you remember that fool girl, Minnie Weston, 
to whom we both proposed, telling her the same 
story, that there was insanity and murder in the 
family, and we were as poor as church mice, but 
we’d love her until Gabriel blew his trumpet ? ” 

“ Yes. If I remember rightly she accepted you 
and refused me. How did you get out of it ? I 
don’t recall.” 

Reminiscences occupied two full hours, and 
were only interrupted by Melissa’s appearance at 
the door and her ejaculation : 

“ Land sakes ! Where’d you come from, Mr. 
Everett? Thought you’s out West ! ” 

As Mr. Everett joked with Melissa, which 
seemed to be the tendency of all who knew her, 
they heard another team drive up, and soon Doctor 
Layton appeared. 

“ I want to know ! Where’d you drop from ? 
Thought yu wus cornin’ to-morrow. It never do 
rain but it pours in Little Rhody,” called out 
Melissa. 

“ Another surprise party, Melissa. I can’t keep 
away from you long at a time, you know. Uncle 
Billy, how are you? Professor, the same?” ex- 
tending a hand to each. “ I’m just in time for 
the reunion. I came down this afternoon to 
stay all night with Uncle Billy before coming 
over here to-morrow, but found the bird flown, 


128 The Professor’s Daughter 


and started in pursuit. Where’s the daughter 
of the family.^ Oh! I see! — there she comes, 
with her ideal in tow,” indicating the two ap- 
proaching from the bridge. ^^Well, how did 
you find Chicago, Uncle Billy Noisy and porky 
as ever? ” 

With a physician’s keen insight and his own 
quick sympathies, Layton saw that the two older 
men had been exchanging confidences that had 
touched their core, and he kept them answering 
his questions about the Western trip and the 
recent storm until Louise and Oliver drew near, 
when his manner changed, and the teasing tone 
he used with her came back into his voice as he 
exclaimed : 

“ What have we here ! The ghost of Melissa ? 
Professor, are we to. present a sunbonnet like that 
to my august relative? Miss Fremont, come 
forth from beneath, and permit me to present my 
uncle (known to you as Billy Everett), the Royal 
Highness of the village of Shannock. Uncle, this 
is my patient. Miss Louise Fremont.” Louise 
had asked Oliver as they landed if there were not 
people on the porch of the house. His remark- 
able vision made easy work of determining their 
identity, consequently she was fully prepared for 
the meeting. 

With a bow in Doctor Layton’s direction, she 
walked toward Mr. Everett, holding out both hands 
as she said : “ Is it really Billy Everett ? I can 
hardly believe in his reality. He has been an 
invisible member of our family ever since I was a 


The Professor’s Daughter 1 29 

child. Yes, this is surely his handshake, said to 
be the most friendly on earth.” 

“ I am Billy,” he replied. “ May I kiss Tom’s 
girl } ” Without waiting for consent, Mr. Everett 
bent down and kissed Louise, continuing, “ We 
have just arranged that I am to share the daughter; 
haven’t we, Tom ? ” 

The Professor, again surprised at Louise’s 
unusual warmth of manner with a stranger, was 
rejoiced as well, and replied heartily: “You can 
have all of my girl that you can win. She is hard 
to win, but once gained she is ‘ faithful unto 
death.’ ” 

Layton had moved around to his uncle’s right 
hand. As her father said this, Louise uninten- 
tionally glanced at him. The Doctor stood look- 
ing at her intently with a sobered expression in 
his eyes. She felt herself getting red all over 
with the blush that looks like a scarlet fever 
symptom. She looked quickly away and up to 
Mr. Everett, who still held her hand. 

“ She’s gettin’ consid’ble sunburned, ain’t she. 
Doc ? ” remarked 01, who had been standing by, 
silently observing the scene. At this another 
flush of blood ran over her face, and she put on 
the sunbonnet, drawing her hand away. 

“ Why, 01, how are you ? ” said Mr. Everett. 
“ I forgot all about you, because I was meeting 
for the first time my old friend’s daughter. Pro- 
fessor Fremont and I went to school together 
when we were boys. Could you think of us as 
boys } ” 


9 


130 The Professor’s Daughter 


all o’ us ’s got to be boys before we’re 
men folks, an’ I s’pose you’s same’s all the rest, — 
young colts as didn’t like the bit none too well,” 
replied Oliver. “ I mus’ be goin’. Melissy round 
anywheres? Here’s sculp an’ two baby mack’rel 
we ketched. The gurl hauled ’em in hand over 
hand. Fish’d ought to know better’n to hook on 
to her bait. Doc, you cornin’ down along o’ me 
to-night ? ” 

“Yes, I’ll be down later, after we have talked 
Uncle Billy out.” 

“ I cal’ late you could do that, if anybody could,” 
called back 01 as he carried the fish in to Melissa. 

But it seemed impossible to talk Uncle Billy 
out. At Melissa’s urgent invitation, he stayed to 
tea. When he did leave. Doctor Layton said: 
“ I’ll be up to Shannock to-day week to spend 
Sunday with you. Uncle Billy; my vacation has 
begun.” 

“That’s right, Everett. Come before, if you 
can. Why not all come up on Saturday and stay 
over Sunday with me ? That would be something 
like! My housekeeper pines for guests in the 
house. She says I am a gouty old fossil to live 
so much alone.” 

It was agreed that they should accept his invita- 
tion, with the hope of seeing him at the beach 
beforehand. Layton said good-night with his 
uncle, and walked out with him to the high cart, 
which Mr. Everett had brought from England 
ten years before, and doted on as one of his 
choicest possessions. 


The Professor's Daughter 131 

Now, father, you are happy, I know,” said 
Louise, as the guests departed. “ Billy Everett 
has materialized.” 

“Yes, Louie, dear, it has been a time of rejoic- 
ing to me. There are no friends like old friends, 
and Billy has not changed, except in inevitable 
physical ways. We are both old men, Louie ; our 
youth and his good looks are left behind. He 
was a great ladies’ man and very handsome, — not 
that he is not handsome now, but you know, Louie, 
what time will do by looking at your father.” 

“You grow handsomer every day, father, and I 
think Mr. Everett is very good-looking now. He 
and his nephew resemble each other greatly.” 

“Yes; if Doctor Layton wore a mustache he 
would resemble Billy, with this difference : that 
the nephew is a firmer, more ambitious man than 
Billy ever was. He never cared for worldly 
emoluments. His inherited means makes him 
independent, and he never cared to dig. Louie, 
I wish you would call him Uncle Billy, — the way 
Doctor Layton does, — it would gratify both him 
and me. Would it seem too familiar to you on 
short acquaintance ? ” 

“ Rather familiar, I should say, father,” replied 
Louise, pulling out the embroidery on her hand- 
kerchief and looking down at it as she spoke. 
“ But ril do it if it makes you happy, father. 
Isn’t it strange how we meet and know hundreds 
of people who barely hold our attention, then sud- 
denly a few come into our lives who seem to belong 
near us at once. I think I should like a home if 


132 The Professor’s Daughter 

I could have about me, say, a dozen such conge- 
nial spirits, with all of the others barred out. 
Oliver told me to-day that he wished I had more 
‘feelin’ eyes.’ I said I could not show my feel- 
ings, and he said something to me that I shall 
never forget. He said : ' Gurl, you won’t mind 
me, will you, if I say’s you don’t know how to 
feel’s well’s you might fur all folks You stan’ 
back from ’em, an’ that makes ’em stan’ back from 
you theirselves. It’s love as makes love, every 
time. 

“ * Why do you suppose Jesus had so much love 
give to Him } Because He give out so much furst. 
When the wind blows hard from the nor’east a day 
or two it nearly al’ays swings round in time to the 
sou’west an’ blows back a spell. When you give 
a man love, he gives his back, an’ with hate the 
same. You don’t hate folks, but you jus’ don’t 
care nothin’ ’tall about most o’ ’em.’ That is 
what he said, as nearly as I can repeat it, father, 
in his language, and I know he told the truth. I 
have felt it myself, before, when I have been with 
people like Doctor Layton, who gives out so much 
warmth and kindness of feeling, and seems so 
happy in giving. I intend henceforth to cultivate 
the acquaintance of people wherever we go, and 
try to like them better. I know I would be hap- 
pier, especially if you must ever leave me alone in 
life, father.” 

I am sure you would, my daughter,” said the 
Professor, leaning over her and stroking her hair 
with his favorite caress. Many times I have 


The Professor’s Daughter 133 

desired to say to you what the fisherman said, but 
I feared to hurt you ; and moreover, I believe that 
such revelations come to people in their own ap- 
pointed way. This native fisherman is an instru- 
ment in the hands of a Guiding Power, and you 
have that in you waiting for the match to be 
applied which will set your light burning before 
men. ” 

“No, no, father; I have nothing great in me! 
Do not let your own love deceive you. But I 
begin to see what a wonderful power on earth for 
good or evil is human love, that idealism is a 
mistake, and I want to feel what other people do.” 

“ You cannot help having inherited some of my 
father’s qualities. He was a typical New Eng- 
lander ; conservative, self-sufficient, hard as a rock 
in his sense of right and duty for himself and 
others. I feared my father too much to have 
loved him. He had no charity for other men’s 
sins, and in that very fact was committing a sin 
himself. He never saw the beam in his own eye 
because it did not happen to resemble his neigh- 
bors’. Open your heart to charity, dearie. You 
are not lenient always, Louie. Remember, man 
is mortal while here, whatever he may be beyond 
this life.” 

This ended the talk for this time, but it took 
Louise several hours to get to sleep. She lay 
thinking. The time had come in her life which 
to the individual is weighty with significance, 
though a common experience among those who 
broaden and deepen the channel of their lives as 


134 The Professor’s Daughter 


they mature. She had begun to look within, 
where she saw her own deficiencies, and in so 
doing reduced her standard for other people to a 
rational height. The Pharisee in us must be 
slaughtered before we can fairly balance good and 
evil as we know it. 

Louise had throughout her life openly con- 
demned the flagrant lack of charity expressed 
among people, while at the same time she silently 
nursed an ideal of human living beyond the possi- 
bility of mortals. 

Her standard had hitherto been the only stand- 
ard within her comprehension, a non-conformity 
to which relegated individuals to outer darkness 
so far as her acquaintance was concerned. She 
was the descendant of Puritans, and no blame 
could rightfully be attached to her for the posses- 
sion of their salient qualities, so long as her eyes 
were closed to herself, so long as she did not 
realize that she would have wittingly burned 
witches. 

After that night, when she received her first 
intimations, a new road was opened up to her, but 
her feet, long used to the straight and narrow 
path,” moved stumblingly along the way. Regen- 
eration is not a thing of the passing moment or 
hour ; time and purpose alone can work the 
miracle. 

After ‘‘the assembly of the clans,” as Doctor 
Layton called the recent meeting on the porch, 
the days seemed to flash by. No one could 
account for them; no one wished to. Human 


The Professor’s Daughter 135 

accord hovering over a garden-spot of Nature is 
an indication of what Heaven might be. Doctor 
Layton continued to promote in Louise a surface 
antagonism by his teasing manner and tendency to 
hold her fancy down to earth ; but this was only 
apparent to the two of them. Ol’s penetration 
was not subtle ; in seeing to the heart of things 
he frequently overlooked important surface indi- 
cations. Billy Everett drove over frequently, but 
he and the Professor were too occupied with each 
other to notice trivial matters like an occasional 
scornful glance or word of Louise’s directed at 
Layton and his mocking tone in reply, or a half- 
veiled tendency of hers to preach at him over other 
men’s shoulders. 

It was a case of strong attraction between mind 
and matter ; not that Louise was all mind, or the 
Doctor all matter, but in the contest each chose to 
put forth that form of strength for the time being. 
Several times the elderly chums preferred to sit 
together on Melissa’s front porch talking over old 
times and the long interval since those days. 01 
usually accompanied the Doctor and his patient, 
but occasionally he was called to Shannock, or occu- 
pied with his own affairs, thus leaving them to sail, 
tramp, or sit on the sands in the out-of-doors con- 
versation whose freedom induces friendship if any- 
thing will. Doctor Layton never encouraged her 
to talk about her eyes. He seemed to her to treat 
the question lightly, and in slight resentment of 
his manner she refrained from opening the sub- 
ject, after the first attempt to draw from him an 


136 The Professor’s Daughter 


opinion. Frequently he told her how apparently 
she was gaining strength from the outdoor life, 
and once or twice he threw off a stone, asking her 
if she could see where it fell. 

The three spent the Sunday they had pledged 
to Mr. Everett in his interesting old house in 
Shannock, where he lived in the utmost comforts 
a single man can know. His housekeeper was a 
distant connection, older than himself, who took a 
family and personal pride in the ordering of his 
household affairs, without allowing her interest to 
descend to the level of matrimonial design. This 
house was furnished with quaint and curious 
objects of hereditary value and foreign descent. 
The house would have been masculine in its effects 
had not Mr. Everett inherited many objects of 
feminine taste, for both he and his nephew knew 
more about science, politics, and other distinctively 
manly affairs than they did of the proper age and 
designs of rugs, sofa pillows, and hangings. They 
were old-fashioned Americans of the masculine 
gender. They enjoyed house decorations, but 
they held that specific knowledge on such matters 
belonged to woman’s sphere, to importers and 
upholsterers. There are a few such men left, but 
not many. 

Louise had brought herself to say to Mr. 
Everett, looking as shy as a school-girl as she did 
so: “Mr. Everett, father says I am to call you 
Uncle Billy. Do you object.? ” 

“Object, my dear! Object! How could I.? 
Of course you are to call me Uncle Billy. All 


The Professor’s Daughter 137 

young people do, and I like it. Tom’s girl should 
call me so first of all.” 

“ But I am not a girl, Uncle B-i-l-l-y, — I’m get- 
ting to be quite a middle-aged person ” 

Middle-aged nothing ! ” taking her by the 
shoulders with a little shake. “You’re the child 
of our old age. Kiss me, and stop saying such 
ridiculous things. I’m your Uncle Billy now and 
always, my dear.” 

A lump arose in Louise’s throat as he kissed 
her forehead paternally. She had begun to realize 
his own loneliness in the midst of worldly posses- 
sions and comfort, although all she knew of his 
life was that his wife had not lived many years. 

She looked up at him and said simply : “ I love 
you already. Uncle Billy. ” 

“ God bless you, my child. That is the first 
time any one has told jne that in twenty years. 
I’m a lonely old man, and I thank you for saying 
it. I’ll try to deserve your affection.” 

They were interrupted by the entrance of Doctor 
Layton, who, seeing that he had intruded upon 
confidences, tried to back out unobserved, but his 
uncle called him. 

“ Come here, Everett, and behold me a happy 
man. This child thinks she can like me well 
enough to call me Uncle Billy, and I am a proud 
man.” 

“ You have reason to be proud. I don’t believe 
she would even call me her friend, while in the 
short space of ten days she has found an ideal and 
an uncle.” 


138 The Professor’s Daughter 


“ You are my attending physician,” said Louise, 
with a sarcastic droop of her lips. Isn’t that 
high-sounding enough for you } ” 

“Oh, a man has to take what he can get,” he 
said, with the daring look in his ey^s always dis- 
concerting to her. “ But I came in for a time- 
card. I’m called to town in consultation, so I 
must leave you to-night, and will go directly to the 
beach on my return, when I open office hours at 
the camp in the morning, and go gunning with 01 
in the afternoon. The frost last night and the 
wind to-day will make the birds fly.” 

Louise saw little more of him until the middle 
of the week, when one morning he came up to the 
porch where she was sitting reading and exclaimed 
in his sudden way : 

“ What did I tell you about reading. Miss Fre- 
mont.^ You are down here for play, not for work. 
Gather cobwebs on your brain, — they will do you 
good, — and digest the literary food of years.” 

“ Good-morning, Doctor Layton. You might 
be called a precipitate person.” 

“Yes, if all people had the extensive vocabulary 
you have I might ; but, thank fortune, they 
haven’t. Have you noticed the teams passing on 
the way to the beach ? Come with me, will you ? 

I wish to show you a picturesque suggestion of a* 
Breton coast.” 

“ How far must we go to see it ” 

“ Only to the dunes. The heavy sea last night 
brought in tons of seaweed, which the farmers 
about here use as a fertilizer. Men, boys, and 


The Professor’s Daughter 139 

even one woman have been coming for miles since 
four o’clock this morning. They bank the weed 
on the sand first, then cart it away.” 

How novel and un-American it does sound ! 
I’ll be ready iji a minute. Father has gone driv- 
ing with Uncle Billy.” 

As he sat waiting for her, Melissa came out 
with her jocular expression of surprise at his pres- 
ence. Surprise seemed to be her strongest form 
of welcome. 

“ Be you some tuckered, Doctor, after shootin’ 
over the hills ? ” 

Not a bit of it, Melissa. I’m as sound as a 
greening, and as tough as the biscuits we had for 
breakfast. 01 made them,” he laughed. 

** Why don’t you do’s I say — come here fur 
victuals } The ole man an’ the gurl won’t mind. 
She’s perkin’ up, ain’t she ? She’s laughed three 
times in my bearin’ o’ late. There ain’t much the 
matter o’ her, be they } ” 

Oh, no,” he replied indifferently. “ She will 
be stronger than you, Melissa, if you don’t stop 
eating pie three times a day.” 

“ Shoo ! Pie never hurt nobody. Say, you 
said he be a widdy man, didn’t you ? ” smiled 
Melissa. 

No, I didn’t say anything about it,” he replied, 
looking sharply at her as she stood with her hands 
on her hips and hair blown into wisps hanging over 
her ears and eyes. 

“ Oh, he be, — he tole me so hisself. He’s real 
pleasunt, ain’t he.?” she remarked, smiling more. 


140 The Professor's Daughter 

“ He ain’t too ole to keep company, either. He’s 
jus’ ripe, ain’t he.^ ” 

Layton leaned back and shook with laughter. 
“ Melissa Stillman,” he cried, you’re undoubtedly 
an offspring of old Adam and Eve. Now, look 
here,” he continued more soberly, “ if you go to 
bothering the Professor, I’ll send them home and 
go myself.” 

I ain’t botherin’ nobody. I only asked you a 
simple question,” and she flounced into the house, 
almost upsetting Louise at the door. 

Louise had grown accustomed to Melissa’s 
peculiarities and varieties of manner, therefore her 
curiosity was not aroused at the moment. She 
only remarked that Miss Melissa weighed more 
than she appeared to, and they started off together. 

It was an ideal autumn day, — the summer-time 
touched with frost. The sky was a thick blue, 
with but little white in it, and the clouds moved 
like blue-black floating islands occasionally shad- 
ing into soft gray tones. The birds were flying 
restlessly about, as though exhilarated and excited 
by the air. The sands of the dunes wore none of 
their delicate pink flush frequently apparent under 
the influence of a mellow air and a flood of gold 
at sunset ; they were white, — dazzlingly white, — 
and the water exaggerated the image of the sky, 
adding a touch of cruelty and mockery by its 
savage motion. 

The tide was at ebb, leaving about ten feet of 
matted seaweed exposed on the sand. Oxcarts 
and horse teams were being loaded with the brown 


The Professor’s Daughter 141 

weed by a dozen men wearing high rubber boots, 
as they stood in the water or the wet of the weed, 
pitching it into the carts and wagons with pitch- 
forks. Louise only received a broad effect of this 
picturesque scene until Doctor Layton had assisted 
her to climb the high dune on whose summit they 
settled themselves for a bird’s-eye view. 

“ This is glorious. Doctor Layton ! Glorious is 
the only word for it ! ” exclaimed Louise. When 
I stand on this dune in the midst of a solemn gray 
day, or when the sands are flushed with the mar- 
vellous west at sunset, or when the white fleece 
floats like sheep’s wool across an Indian summer 
sky, my impulse is to sing out, ‘ The glory of God ! 
The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
firmament showeth His handiwork! Oh, ye sons 
of men, how long will ye turn My glory into 
shame 1 ’ ” 

** I know the feeling,” he said earnestly. “ It 
is the glory of God I Sing it now.” 

She looked far out at sea and said nothing. An 
expressive person would have obeyed him because 
of his sympathy. She did not because she could 
not ; instead, she said after a moment : ** See that 
blue cart with the cream-colored oxen. What a 
bit of color ! ” 

You must call them cattle if you wish to sound 
at all intelligent down here. They are called the 
cattle, and cows are critters.” 

You know enough for both,” she replied. “ Is 
that a woman working among the men ? I can’t 
distinguish any one at that distance.” 


142 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ Yes ; she is the only advocate of woman’s 
emancipation in the neighborhood. She farms a 
little place up back, seaweeds it and does all the 
chores, with the help of a small son. See him 
with his little pitchfork standing near her. 

“ Her worthless husband loafs around grog- 
shops in Shannock, and she is the man of the 
family. The neighborhood ladies, following the 
lead of their sex, make invidious* remarks about 
her housekeeping, and they do say the pig sleeps 
in the parlor ; but you know how women will talk. 
Can you see 01 at work near the blue cart with 
the Clarkes? He gets them down here by mid- 
night when he sees the weed coming in, and they 
work day and night cleaning the beach.” 

‘‘No; I can’t distinguish him from the rest. 
How I wish I could ! He must look more like a 
picture than ever,” Louise replied. 

“ He does. His figure shows up well among 
those men. I’ll call him up here afterward. Miss 
Fremont,” he continued, suddenly changing his 
tone, “ why is it you do not like me ? ” 

She turned her eyes slowly from the scene 
before them toward him, as though to gain time, 
and answered : “ What leads you to think I do not ? 
Have I been rude to you in any way? ” 

“ Certainly not ; there is a long distance between 
rudeness and indifference. With your father and 
Uncle Billy and Oliver you seem perfectly at home 
and happy, but as soon as I come on the scene you 
begin to freeze. Do you really dislike me, or have 
I done something to offend you ? ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 143 

“ Why do you ask me this, Doctor Layton ? 
Can’t you let things alone? We get on very 
well.” 

“ I ask you because I wish to know,” he replied, 
making the nervous motion with his hands about 
his chin that men who have once worn beards 
make. 

Then I will tell you. I like you better than I 
desire to like you,” said Louise, looking off to sea 
again. 

“ You will have to explain that,” he replied. 

** I tell you this at your request, because I wish 
to know if I can ever allow myself to like you. 
You appear to be two distinct people, — the man 
known in the city and the man known in the 
country. I could never have a friend in that city 
man, and I wish the country man were my friend, 
— so there you have it.” 

“You mean that you have it, for I certainly 
have not. The explanation means absolutely noth- 
ing to me. Miss Fremont,” he said, breaking off 
some marsh grass and slowly running its length 
through his hand. 

“ How is it possible for a man to lead the life 
your acquaintances in town say you do, and still 
be the man I know down here, — the man who is 
unselfish, self-sacrificing, and beloved by high and 
low?” 

“ Perhaps I have both men in me, although I 
lay no claim to the latter description,” he replied, 
looking steadily at her. “ May I ask what you 
know about my life in town ? ” 


144 The Professor’s Daughter 


“ Nothing but from hearsay, and that I never 
trust. What I want you to do is to deny those 
reports, and set my mind at rest about liking you 
as much as I could.” 

“I think I know what you mean. Miss Fre- 
mont,” he replied gravely. I have heard some 
rumors myself. They say I am a fast club-man, 
don’t they.? That I neglected Mrs. Layton while 
she lived, and that I drink more than is good for 
me? To the first I answer, I do belong to several 
clubs, and have for many years past; also, that 
some pretty decent men belong to clubs. The 
second I deny ; the third depends upon your stand- 
point of quantity and capacity. I never was 
intoxicated but once in my life, and that was 
twenty years ago. I do drink cocktails at the 
Hoffman House when I feel so disposed, but I 
walk right in the front door, and am not ashamed 
of it, although, as a physician, I think some other 
form of alcohol would be better for my stomach. 
Aside from these vices, I have committed the 
sins of the flesh that most men commit, — but 
I have never robbed a human being, — I have 
paid for all I ever had. ’Tis not the record of 
a hero nor an ideal. I am only the average 
man, but this I will say: I am not, — in any 
respect, the man my enemies in New York pro- 
claim me to be.” 

“I wish you had not told me this. I should 
have preferred to remain in doubt. How could I 
admit to my friendship a man who, by his own 
confession, has lived a life that would condemn 


The Professor’s Daughter 145 

me, a woman, to the gutters!” He made no 
reply. He seemed to be confounded. Finally he 
spoke. 

I allow that what you say is founded on truth 
and right. If more women felt as you do men 
would be better; but can you stand out against 
the world’s experience of centuries and demand 
from men and women moral equality.? And do 
you turn away from your friendship all men who 
are not as virtuous as you are.? You have never 
had a man’s temptations, — you know nothing about 
the world nor real life. You have lived as pro- 
tected as a child in a world of your own, peopled 
with imaginary characters, whose actions you con- 
trol by laws of ideality, not by human or natural 
laws. You don’t even know what you would do 
were you tempted. Do you think turning me off 
will make me a better man, or are you afraid of 
contamination .? ” He laughed bitterly as he con- 
cluded. ‘‘You ought not to know many highly 
respected gentlemen.” 

“ Please don’t take that tone. Doctor Layton. I 
know I seem inexperienced, and my father says 
uncharitable, but I must feel respect for my 
friends, and I cannot respect sin. I might pity 
you ” 

“ I don’t want your pity,” he muttered. 

“ Men never do when they ask for it. If I could 
help you in any way I should be glad to do it, 
but ” 

“You can help me, Miss Fremont, merely by 
permitting me to be near you in our present life. 

10 


146 The Professor's Daughter 

I shall not ask for friendship until you give it 
freely, but while I am near you I have no desire 
for any life but that of my country self. My 
ideal of womanhood was broken long ago. What 
you have said has restored my faith in the stand- 
ard of at least one woman. Only let me be near 
you for two more weeks. Some day if I tell you 
more about my life you may be able to under- 
stand. ” He took the end of a long blue cape she 
wore, which just then blew across his shoulders, 
and pressed it between his hands. 

The man who is my friend must at least try 
to resist temptation,” said Louise, who had grown 
very white. Self-controlled people suffer tortures 
that are never suspected by the observer. 

She seemed to him cold and unresponsive. He 
pursued the subject no further, but looked at his 
watch and astonished her by saying they would 
be late for dinner, including himself, as he had 
promised Melissa to dine with them. Louise 
waited for him to say more as they started down 
the dune, but he was silent until she said gently : 

“ Doctor Layton, I do not wish to drive you 
from me, nor to offend you, but my convictions 
are very strong on certain subjects.” 

“I can only bow to them. Miss Fremont, and 
try to show my respect for them,” he said ear- 
nestly, then pointed out a flock of sand-pipers, ask- 
ing if she could see them hopping about on the 
sand. As they reached the bottom of the dune, 
01 came striding toward them with his pitchfork 
on his shoulder. He exclaimed : 


The Professor's Daughter 147 

“ Ain’t this a sight fur you, gurl ! I’ve been 
at it since midnight an’ my jints begin to creek. 
I’m some tuckered. Them’s my folks, pitchin’, 
over yonder. You ain’t seen ’em yet. I promised 
Mrs. Clarke sure’s I wus alive I’d bring you an’ 
Doc up to their house this week. Will you go 
after dinner, both o’ you ? She’s got some mince 
pie an’ black cake ’at can’t be beat, an’ I’ll be 
through pitchin’ in ’bout an hour.” 

They promised to go, and he strode back to his 
work, flapping the loose tops of his rubber boots 
against each other as he walked, — a sound that, 
during the remainder of her life, recalled that 
scene and the conversation with Doctor Layton to 
Louise’s mind. 

As she saw less well, her hearing seemed to 
grow more acute; in reality she depended more 
upon that sense. They talked very little as they 
rowed up the Breach, Louise sitting on the broad 
centre seat beside the Doctor, pulling one long 
oar which he was teaching her to use, but as they 
landed she said : “ I often wish I were more like 
other people. Doctor Layton. It would be much 
easier to live without a conscience.” 

** I am glad you are not,” he replied. 


TENTH CHAPTER 


One crisp, exhilarating morning in the fourth 
week of her stay at Weecapaug, Louise walked 
down to the beach with her father, and after set- 
tling him comfortably among the Gull Rocks on 
the east beach in the sun, she rowed with Ol, who 
had joined them, over to the camp to prepare for a 
day’s fishing. As they landed on the west side, 
Oliver remarked : 

** Doc’s gone up back again to see Ann Randall. 
She’s dyin’ sure pop this time. She’s been doin’ 
it fur forty year, an’ folks ’es got so’s they 
wouldn’t be dissipinted if she’d keep her word. 
She’s worn ’em all out warnin’ o’ ’em. But Doc 
said he’d be back by eleven, an’ that’ll make the 
tide right to git back in. It’s runnin’ out turrible 
strong now, an’ ’ll be young flood far out by two 
o’clock, so’s I ’lowed we’d take along some o’ Mrs. 
Clarke’s pie an’ cake an’ snaps, an’ some o’ them 
sickle pears I brung you the other day, — wa’n’t 
they good to the taste ? — an’ we couldn’t starve on 
that. I tole Doc to be sure’n bring you some o’ 
them pep’ mints from the store "at the corners, — 
women folks al’ays does take to ’em. O’ course 
you ain’t like mos’ women folks, an’ yure tastes 
per’aps be diffurent in things to eat, but it’s been 
my experience, even when folks has book learnin’, 


The Professor’s Daughter 149 

an’ knows ’bout everything, they’s not much dif- 
furent from other folks ’bout their stomics. 
Stomics don’t seem to belong to no paticuler class 
o’ folks.” About Ol’s eyes came the tiny wrinkles 
that were always forerunners of his laugh when, 
ever anything amused him. 

Louise was much amused at the idea of a social 
distinction between stomachs, and showed it by 
looking at 01 as if he were a smart little boy who 
must be treated indulgently, but not flattered on 
account of his precocity for fear of spoiling. She 
knew that to him there was no such thing as class 
distinction, as he said : 

“ Some folks be rich an’ some folks be pore, 
but’s far’s I see, that’s all the diffurence between 
’em, an’ I can’t see’s either way they’s to blame 
fur what they be, ’cept fur principles, — they’s only 
one class o’ right principles, — all the others be 
wrong.” 

01 had his own weakness, too, which consisted 
of a self-important feeling general among those 
who know but one little spot on the great earth, 
and in that spot are prophets honored in their own 
country, — a variety of provincialism met with as 
frequently in city life as in the country. The 
summer boarders made more of 01 than did his 
neighbors, to be sure; they listened to his stories 
and opinions without enlightening his ignorance 
on many questions, simply because he amused 
them, and this attention from city folks ” ele- 
vated him in the estimation of Weecapaug natives 
almost to the point of jealousy. 


150 The Professor’s Daughte 

As he prepared the lines, the net in which to 
carry back the fish, the bait and the lunch, he 
revealed a new side of his character to Louise, by 
telling her how many invitations he had to visit 
*‘city folks.” “I’m acquainted with folks in all 
o’ the big places,” he went on. “ Fur that matter. 
I’m knowed all over the world. I couldn’t go any- 
wheres where I wouldn’t come up along o’ friends. 
I’d like’s not forget ’em, but folks comes up to me 
sayin’, ‘ Why, Oliver, how’re you,’ no matter where 
I be.” 

This was his little vanity, but it grated on 
Louise, who changed the subject by asking, 
“ What if that old woman should really die this 
time ? Would Doctor Layton remain up there } ” 

“ Like’s not,” replied 01, all the wrinkles ap- 
pearing again. “But never fear, Ann ain’t likely 
to die. I’ll risk her dyin’. Doc says she’s a 
hypercondercharacter, or some word sim’lar. She 
jus’ fairly killed off Charles, her man, by com- 
plainin’. He tole me oncet he’d ’nough hell on 
this earth fur one man, an’ he wouldn’t mind dyin’, 
bein’ good an’ ready fur where he wur goin’, 
’cordin’ to Ann. If Charles had been a little more 
bashfuller then he were he’d been better off, 
’cordin’ to my way o’ thinkin’. You’d ’a’ laughed 
yureself sick to ’a’ heard Charles tell ’bout his 
weddin’ day. He were that bashful before marry- 
in’ that if a gurl’d as much’s speak to him he’d turn 
his back to answer, — ’tis the livin’ truth I’m tellin’ 
you, — an’ nobody ain’t ever found out how he got 
darin’ ’nough to keep company along o’ Ann. I 


The Professor’s Daughter 151 

al'ays cariated she did mos’ the keepin’ company 
herself. 

** Well, when the marriage night come, the folks 
wus all at the house waitin’ fur Charles, who 
didn’t show up. Ann she was bilin’ mad, an’ 
’lowed she’d have the law on him. So wus her 
brothers, an’ they started cross lots after him, 
keepin’ the preacher an’ the company waitin’. 
’Bout a quarter o’ a mile from the house, in a 
pasture, they come up with Charles settin’ on a 
stone’s white’s a sheet, an’ tremblin’ same’s a leaf. 
Dick Marsh started in to swear at him, an’ ask his 
reasons fur slippin’ up on ’em, but Charles he jus’ 
set in to beg ’em to let him go home, sayin’ he’d 
die if he had to marry a woman; he jus’ couldn’t 
go an’ Stan’ before all them folks, it ’ud kill him 
sure, an’ he says he felt’s though snakes wus 
runnin’ all over him. But the Marsh boys jus' 
took him ’long between ’em, an’ when Ann got 
holt o’ him there wa’n’t no backin’ out. 

“ Ann were al’ays masterful. Now, that makes 
you laugh, gurl, don’t it ^ It makes me feel reel 
good to see you laugh, fur you don’t seem’s though 
you wus used to it. Nothin’ ’ll make you plump 
up like a pattridge sooner’n laughin’. I mustn’t 
be tadpolin’ round here if we’re goin’. I mus’ get 
some more blue crabs fur bait. Set quiet an’ I’ll 
row up the Breach ’bout a minute in the skiff an’ 
git some.” 

“May I sit in the boat while you are gone, 
01 } ” asked Louise. 

“Yes, I don’t see nothin’ to hinder you,” he 


152 The Professor’s Daughter 

replied, shoving off from the shore, pushing the 
light skiff along by a long oar as he stood looking 
down in shallow places for crabs. He was more 
picturesque when he wore the rubber boots as he 
did that day. Louise watched his attractive back 
for a few moments as he moved along, then she 
was seized with an unfortunate purpose, — she 
would row a short way in the opposite direction 
toward the danger point on the bar, — then when 
01 turned around he would have *‘a surprise 
party ” in seeing her row the large boat with both 
oars. She was perfectly certain she could do it 
after two weeks of practice with Doctor Layton in 
the boat. Mental relaxation had either enervated 
her judgment or brought the child in every woman 
to the surface. 

She untied the rope which held the fisherman’s 
boat to a lobster-pot stub and rowed off. The 
tide was running out so fast that the boat went off 
itself, without much help from her still awkward 
rowing. She was well down toward the mouth of 
the Breach when Oliver first caught sight of her, 
and she had made up her mind to turn about. 

When 01 saw her he swore the only oath of 
his life. ** God o’ mercy ! ” he cried out. “ She’s 
lost ! She’ll never git back ’gainst that tide ! ” 

He began to row as he never had before, not 
even in crossing the bar on a rough night. His 
face grew white beneath the tan, and perspiration 
broke out on his forehead. “ My gurl ! My 
gurl ! ” he said aloud. “ She’s done fur if I don’t 
reach her ! ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 153 

When she tried to turn about she realized what 
she had done, — that no strength of hers could ever 
put the boat back against the tide and wind. Her 
first thought was of her father sitting content- 
edly on the rocks. The thought gave her added 
strength. She bent it all on to backing water 
with the left and pulling with the right hand, but 
nothing she could do swerved the boat from its 
swift motion toward the heavy breakers. 

Then she saw 01 coming and heard his voice 
calling to her, but she could not understand his 
words. Suddenly an engulfing wave of panic and 
despair swept over her, more dangerous than her 
situation. Had she remained quietly in the boat 
she in all probability would have fioated out to 
sea, to be picked up by 01 or some passing vessel 
within a few hours, but this terror robbed her of 
all reason. 

She dropped the oars ; one went overboard, and 
she fell on her knees in the bottom of the boat, 
calling “Oliver! Father! Oliver! Help me! 
Help me ! ” 

There was no one but 01 in sight on land or 
sea. She saw him approaching rapidly, but a 
stronger feeling even than her faith in him was 
her growing terror of that black line of breakers 
she was almost into. In her panic she believed 
the boat would never ride them, and that her only 
course was to attempt to swim ashore. She had 
not swum a stroke for five years, but in the mad- 
ness of the moment she threw herself into the 
water and struck out. 


154 The Professor’s Daughter 


As 01 rowed forward with his long stroke he 
saw that she had abandoned the boat, and again 
he cried: ‘‘God o’ mercy! Gurl! Gurl! I’m 
cornin’ ! ” He stopped to strip off his heavy boots, 
rowing with one hand while he tugged at the 
opposite boot with the other. Standing, then, in 
his stocking-feet, with no hat on and no color in 
his face, drawn tense with terror, he looked like a 
condemned spirit of himself. 

When Louise felt her strength giving way she 
tried to float, but the heavy cape she wore fastened 
about her neck dragged her down, and she did not 
think of throwing it off. She felt herself slip- 
ping, sinking, falling, and gave one scream before 
she went down, calling “ Doctor Layton I ” as 
though he were her last hope. By the time she 
rose Oliver was near enough to lean over the side 
of the boat and catch her by her long hair, which 
had fallen down after her hat fell off. He pulled 
her up to the surface of the water, but as soon as 
she opened her eyes and saw him she threw both 
arms around him, overbalancing the weight of his 
body on the side of the light skiff, which turned 
over, sending him into the water beside her. He 
tried his best to throw off her arms, but she held 
him with the grasp of a maniac. 

“ Let go o’ me, gurl,” he implored, “ an’ Ol’ll 
save you. Do you think I’d let you drown Let 
go, I say ! ” but with no effect, — she was pulling 
him down, down into the depths, as their bodies 
were swept by the tide farther out to sea. He 
stroked along with his feet and kept them both 


The Professor’s Daughter 155 

afloat, but he had lost hope of their lives, when 
suddenly, her strength giving way, her arms 
unclasped themselves, and she fell back, either 
dead or unconscious, he knew not which. 

Then he had to flght his way back with this 
body. The skiff had floated out beyond all possi- 
bility of aid from it. One of the long oars of the 
large boat was swaying back and forth near by, but 
he could not reach it. He grasped her by her 
cape and started to swim with his burden, having 
only the use of his feet and one arm. He made 
slow progress, but he knew that as long as his 
strength held out there was hope of rescue. 

Professor Fremont, on his way back to the house 
for dinner, was loitering dreamily about on the 
east side of the Breach, when he saw what seemed 
like two bodies in the water. He hurried off for 
assistance into a summer cottage near by where 
two men at the rear of the house, out of view of 
the water, were mending a roof. His cries 
alarmed them, and they set off at once in one of 
the dories used by the cottagers. 

The Professor remained on shore because he 
could not row, and although he had no idea of the 
swimmers’ identity, he paced the beach in sus- 
pense. Oliver was making some headway, but his 
strength was ebbing. He knew not whether it 
was a dead body he bore or the unconscious form 
of a woman who had grown to belong to his life 
during those few weeks of existence together. 
Whichever it was he must return her to those who 
had some right to love her. He struggled and 


156 The Professor’s Daughter 

bent his strength anew again and again, but the 
tide swept them back. He murmured to the body 
as he failed the last time. My gurl ! My white 
dove! What made you do it.^ Ol’d ’a’ saved 
you ! Don’t you know it ? Ol’d ’a’ saved you. 
We’ll go down together, but I’d ’a’ died fur you, 
my white dove, — I’d ’a’ died fur you. ” 

He was losing all power of consecutive thought. 
He tried to swim, but could not move ; the languor 
was coming over him. He felt himself going to 
sleep, and threw both arms around Louise, letting 
himself go, but as they began to sink the men 
grappled them and with great effort pulled them 
both into the boat. 

“ Gui ! ” said one, a carpenter from Shannock. 
“ It’s 01 Peckham, sure’s you’re alive, an’ the city 
gurl up at Stillman’s. They’re both unconscious. 
Lost their strength, I guess. She ain’t dead, is 
she? ” 

“ No,” said the other, “ I think she’s got life in 
her yet. We’re jus’ in time an’ no more. How’d 
they git out there, specially 01 ? I don’t see no 
boats. Lucky, ain’t it, I brought down that whis- 
key this mornin’ ’gainst the ole woman’s instruc- 
tin. It’s there ashore, an’ it’ll bring ’em round.” 

“ Say, ain’t that the father o’ the gurl ? ” asked 
the first one. 

'‘By Gui! if ’tain’t! He’ll carry on awful! 
Who’s that drivin’ down the road on the east side ? 
Sure’s anything it’s Doctor Layton. Ain’t that 
luck! Let’s pull fur all we’re wuth, git ’em 
ashore, an’ he’ll save ’em if they’re to be saved.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 


157 


Ann Randall had at last kept her word and gone 
in search of her bashful husband in the world be- 
yond. This being the case, Doctor Layton had 
driven to the beach to say he could not go out 
fishing that day, but must return to the Randalls’ 
cottage just as soon as he could get something to 
eat, for there was no one to attend to the funeral 
arrangements but the neighbors. 

He came down the east side to leave the horse 
he drove with the man to whom it belonged, and 
as he approached he saw two men in a boat row- 
ing ashore, with 01 and Louise stretched out 
limply across the thwarts and on the floor, and 
Professor Fremont standing by almost speechless 
with fear and suffering as he recognized his 
daughter. His mind seemed confused beyond the 
possibility of coherent thought, for he turned to 
Layton as the latter jumped from the vehicle with 
a bound, demanding of him, Billy Everett, can 
that be my daughter.^ What have you done to 
her.?” 

She is all right. Professor,” Layton replied 
calmly, while his heart beat almost audibly and his 
mouth went dry. “ She has only fainted. Got 
brandy? whiskey? any stimulant, men?” he 
asked. She is reviving. Put 01 on the sand, 
and get brandy if you die for it ! ” 

The men carried 01 up on the sands, a heavy 
burden, and laid him beside Louise, who was 
breathing faintly and had opened her eyes blindly, 
then seemed to lose consciousness again. 

Professor Fremont knelt beside her as one dis- 


158 The Professor’s Daughter 

tracted, smoothing her wet, matted hair in the 
familiar way, and begging Layton to tell him what 
he could do. Those who have been waited on all 
their lives are of little use in an emergency of any 
kind. The carpenter had run to his lunch pail for 
his. whiskey bottle; meantime Doctor Layton was 
called upon to show the decisive, effective action 
of the experienced physician when his mind was 
almost bewildered by the excited beating of his 
heart; but action is largely a question of habit, 
when the mind loses its full mastery. Layton’s 
habit was to do for other people by nature and by 
profession. He worked over them both in every 
way he knew or could devise, directing the two 
laborers, who assisted him energetically. 01 lay 
in the last stages of suspended animation, as 
though he were asleep. Louise was conscious, 
but could not speak. 

With her it was exhausted nerves; she had 
fainted from excess of terror, but with 01 it 
seemed to be an extremity of exhaustion, alarming 
to the physician. After a while Louise said 
feebly to her father : 

Father, am I very ill } My head doesn’t ache ; 
why do you rub it.^^ Isn’t that Doctor Layton’s 
voice I hear.^ Did you call him in for me.^ It is 
very light in this room. Please pull down the 
blinds.” 

Layton bent over her, saying, “Go to sleep. 
Miss Fremont. We will pull down the blinds. 
You are getting better.” 

“ I’m so glad to see you,” she said sickly, trying 


The Professor’s Daughter 159 

to smile. I always feel so much stronger when 
you are near me. What makes me so cold.^^” 
She held out her hand to him. He took it, rub- 
bing the flesh hard between his own, and putting 
more whiskey to her lips. 

I don’t like that stuff,” she said. 

“Take it,” Layton commanded. “This is no 
time for temperance discussions.” 

“ Oh, I will if you wish me to,” she replied, 
swallowing the whiskey and relapsing into a 
dreamy half-consciousness. 

The Doctor had sent off one of the men to 
Melissa’s for a team in which to get Louise up to 
the house, and by the time she had fully recovered 
her senses the wagon arrived, containing Melissa, 
in a state of what she called “ fluster.” 

“Land o’ love! What’s all this about.?” she 
called out. “ Wa’n’t them two ’nough growd up 
to ’tend to theirselves without drownin’ .? I tole 
her she’d go to the bottom rowin’ round in them 
boats. What’s the matter with 01.? Be he 
dead? ” When she saw his still, unconscious face 
her tone changed to that awe of the dead common 
to humanity, irrespective of persons. She sat still 
on the high seat of the wagon, with her sunbonnet 
tilted back, looking down at 01 with dropped jaw 
and startled eyes. No one paid attention to her 
until she cried out : 

“ 01 ain’t dead ! I seen him wink one o’ his 
winkers I ” She jumped out of the cart and began 
to call him by name as she knelt on the sand 
beside him. Presently the little wrinkles began 


i6o The Professor’s Daughter 

to appear about his eyes, and slowly they opened 
with a smile as he looked up and said faintly : 

** I’m cornin’, Melissy. Don’t tear yure hair, — 
bile down yure temper; I’m bringin’ them’s fas’ 
as I can. Jus’ wait a minute ! ” 

After a moment of puzzled looking about he 
sleepily remarked: “I ’low ’tain’t reg’lar, — 
somethin’s wrong, — I guess I’ll go a-sleep,” and 
turning over on his side he went sound asleep, in 
which condition he remained several hours after 
the men had carried him up near the porch of the 
cottage, in the shade, where Doctor Layton sat 
beside him the entire time, watching and noting 
his pulse. Louise, before she was moved, re- 
covered sufficiently to talk, but for a while not 
even questions could recall to her mind the cause 
of her present condition. Suddenly she grasped 
Doctor Layton by the arm and her face took on a 
look of horror. 

“ The black line ! I see it coming ! Save me 
from it ! ” and she threw herself against him, as 
though for protection. He took her into his arms, 
saying scarcely above a whisper : “ I will not let 
anything hurt you, dear. What is it you see.^ 
Tell me while my arms defend you from it.” 

She seemed to grow conscious of him as an 
individual, without losing her horror of her vision, 
for a faint color came quickly to her face, which 
she laid against his shoulder out of his sight as 
she went on : I see the breakers on the bar ! — 
they are almost over me ! — they are strangling me ! 
— don’t you feel them around my throat ? — I feel 


The Professor’s Daughter i6i 

the water and I see 01, — I’m throwing my arms 
around Ol’s waist, — he is falling, — then I can’t 
remember, — where is 01 ? ” she asked, raising her 
head and looking anxiously around for him, as she 
lost the vision. 

“ Lie down,” said Doctor Layton, gently lower- 
ing her head on the pillow he had made of his 
coat, “and rest a few minutes more. You will 
see 01 after a while. We’re going to send you 
home and put you to bed so that you will not take 
cold, — you got into the water somehow. ” 

“Yes, and I called you to come and take me 
out, but you didn’t come,” she said like a child, 
as she looked to be, with her hair draggling about 
her shoulders and back, while on her face rested 
the nature of the woman stripped of its conven- 
tional habiliments of expression. 

“ I was not here, Louise. I could not hear you 
call. You know that I would have done my best 
had I known your danger, don’t you.? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. Of course you would have. 
Everybody knows how good you are in such ways. 
You’d die for Ann Randall. How is she.? ” 

“ She is dead,” he answered quietly. “ Now 
come, I am going to carry you and put you in the 
team. Don’t stiffen, and you will be a light 
burden.” He raised her easily in his arms, 
motioning to her father to follow and get into the 
team. 

“ I feel so safe when you carry me, ” she said 
lazily. “Can’t you carry me all the way.? I 
never have anybody to lean on, — sometimes I get 

II 


; 


1 62 The Professor's Daughter 

so tired and wish I could have somebody to hold 
me always, — just as you do now. You are so 
strong.” 

“ If you would give me the right to hold you so, 
you would never feel that want again,” he said 
against her ear, the man rising in him at her 
words. 

“Oh, no; you couldn’t,” she replied. “I’m 
too big.” At which the Doctor realized that the 
woman only expressed, a human need without 
intending a personal application of her desire. 
He made no reply, but lifted her into the cart. 
His duty held him by Ol, who needed him, but it 
was with a wrench he turned to the latter after 
giving Melissa specific directions about the care of 
Louise, and speaking a few words of encourage- 
ment to her father, who seemed speechless. 

The afternoon wore away, while 01 slept the 
sleep of the exhausted, stretched on the sands in 
the shade of the porch. The men went on with 
their work, and Doctor Layton lay beside 01, 
beginning to realize that he had tasted no food 
since early morning and what he had endured for 
many hours. 

A physician is always more or less of a hero if 
he conscientiously practises his profession, whose 
duties include self-sacrifice and endurance as first 
requisites. This doctor ached all over from 
fatigue, but even to himself he would not confess 
it as, while lying there beside Ol, his mind lin- 
gered on the events of the last few weeks. All the 
rest of his life seemed to sink back into shadow 


The Professor’s Daughter 163 

beside the light of those weeks which stood out 
like the oasis overgrown with the food man craves 
most when he toils alone, and starving along the 
dry, parched sands of life. Merely to be able to 
care intensely for one individual gave him" a new 
feeling about life. He swore at Fate for not per- 
mitting him to save the life of this woman, who, 
even with her critical, reserved nature and morbid 
search for the ideal, he had to admit had become 
more to him in so short a time than any other 
woman had ever been. 

He thought of her slender white hands as they 
had clung to him that day, and of her unusually 
white teeth as she smiled up at him, and of her 
white skin, so smooth and exquisite beneath her 
dress waist, unfastened for freedom in breathing. 
Everything about her was white and spotless to 
his mind, even the spirit which claimed his atten- 
tion last, — for he was only a man, a man of this 
world, not of the next. 

She seemed to him the most beautiful creature 
ever created ; it never occurred to him that there 
could be a difference of opinion on that point 
simply because he loved her. 

Men of his kind surrender unconditionally, with- 
out analysis or critical reservations, and that is 
the love worth giving and having because it throws 
a glamour over life, hiding the ugly spots and rais- 
ing the object of such devotion by its very ideal- 
ism to an elevation approximately high and beau- 
tiful. It makes a good woman better to be loved 
that way, and some thoroughly debased women 


164 The Professor’s Daughter 

have been lifted entirely out of themselves in the 
attempt to grow toward a semblance of their image 
as reflected in a lover’s eyes. Love cannot be 
wasted. It is man’s momentum imparted by his 
Creator as the chief force in mortal evolution, both 
spiritual and physical. Love moves the multitude 
and the individual, from race to race, along the 
path that leads direct to God, of whom this power 
is the most convincing symbol. 

Doctor Layton never knew why he loved Louise 
Fremont, and never cared to know, — he simply 
loved her as men do even in this day, when people 
are portrayed as holding their impulses and affec- 
tions under a microscope and dissecting them at 
will. Louise Fremont was in search of an ideal; 
Everett Layton created his own, the only possible 
way of securing that which does not exist. So 
Layton lay, thus thinking and wondering how 
much she knew or meant of what she had said to 
him that day as he carried her to the team. 

“ Poor girl ! ” he thought. “ I suppose v^hat 
she said was the truth. Even the most inde- 
pendent women like the protection of a man, — 
certainly her father has never given her much of 
that, and there can’t be any one else, from what 
she said.” 

Doc, what be you doin’ there.? ” said 01 from 
beneath the heavy coats thrown over him. 

“ Hello, old man ! Come to life, have you ! ” 
replied Layton, immediately on the alert. “ How 
do you feel .? ” 

“ Kinder crazy, I should say,” replied 01. 


rhe Professor’s Daughter 165 

“Have we los’ our senses, layin’ round on the 
sand same’s summer boarders ? What’s all them 
coats over me fur? ” 

“ See if you can’t sit up,” replied Layton. 

“Set up! What d’you take me fur? Ann 
Randall or a new-laid chick? ” 

He sat up scornfully, but with surprise he was 
soon glad to lean against a post near by. 

“What the name o’ tarnation’s the matter 0 ’ 
me? I feel’s oozey’s a dyin’ gander.” His eyes 
fell upon the waters of the Breach and the per- 
spiration broke out on his forehead simultaneously 
with that sudden look of terrible remembrance 
Louise had shown. “ Where’s the gurl ? ” he de- 
manded with eager horror. “ Be she drownded? ” 
“ No, 01 ; she’s all right. She has gone up to 
the house,” replied Layton. “ Lean against me 
and tell me what happened. Will you take some 
whiskey to keep up your strength ? ” 

“No, I won’t,” replied 01 sternly. “You’d 
ought to know better ’n to offer me that stuff. Doc.” 

“Very well,” said Layton, putting down the 
bottle. “ What happened ? ” 

01 looked up at Layton. “ I saved her for you. 
Doc.” 

“ Thank you, 01,” replied Layton. They looked 
at each other a moment, then 01 began to tell 
what occurred. His remarkable physique asserted 
itself now. . As he told the story of the accident, 
the carpenters joined them to listen, and his circu- 
lation came up as he exerted himself until, by the 
end of the narrative, he stood on his feet. 


1 66 The Professor’s Daughter 

'‘Them fool women!” ejaculated one of the 
carpenters, “al’ays throwin’ theirselves round fur 
men to pick up’s though ’twas a joke.” 

“ Don’t say nothin’ ’tall ’gainst that lady, /ake 
Aldrich, or I’ll show you somethin’. “Twa’n’t 
her fault one bit,” said 01. 

“Be still, Oliver,” said Layton. “Don’t you 
know Jake saved your life by going out in the 
boat for you } ” 

“ Give us yure han’, Jake. I’ll make it all right 
with you,” replied 01. 

“ I didn’t mean no offence ’bout the lady,” said 
Jake. 

“ No, of course you didn’t,” replied Layton. 
“ She never would have done that had she known 
the danger. Now, boys, help me get 01 over to 
the camp, and we’ll change his clothes.” 

“ Don’t want no help,” said 01, walking off with 
a vigor only possible to so perfect an animal, con- 
sidering his late condition. “ Can shift my own 
clothes. Doc, he’s jus’ glad o’ a chance to make 
out I’m a baby.” But as they crossed in the boat 
used in the rescue, he was glad to lean against 
Layton’s knee as he sat in the bottom, with the 
strange complexion of a mulatto who has turned 
pale. 


ELEVENTH CHAPTER 


As the result of Louise Fremont’s exhibition of 
self-will she was confined to the house for a week 
with an incipient attack of bronchitis. As for 01 
Peckham, he suffered from nothing worse than 
the soreness of strained muscles. 

When Louise awakened to the enormity of her 
act, measured by its results, she spent many hours 
berating her conscience for not having interfered 
with her indiscreet impulse. Poor conscience! 
How it is lashed for a slip by conscientious people, 
quite as though it were a thing apart from them- 
selves, — a fine edition of their individuality set on 
the back shelves of existence as a daily monitor ! 
Conscience is but the result of experience united 
to a capacity for seeing both sides of a question. 
Louise Fremont lashed her conscience, permitting 
herself to go scot free. She remembered nothing 
distinctly between the moment when she clasped 
01 as he leaned over the boat and when she found 
Melissa undressing her in her own chamber. As 
in a dream, she saw herself in Doctor Layton’s 
arms, and heard his voice say he would carry her 
always if she only would allow it ; but she believed 
this was a dream, and tried to brush it away from 
her brain. Layton went up with the Professor to 
her room several times, in the capacity of physi- 


1 68 The Professor’s Daughter 


cian, until the cough was checked, but his manner 
was distinctly professional. In his endeavor to 
keep it so he exhibited a forbidding bearing which 
convinced her that by her folly she had lost his 
respect. 

When her father first brought him in she tried 
to apologize for her act, without excusing it in the 
least. He interrupted her almost brusquely, say- 
ing, “ Now, Miss Fremont, don’t bother about this 
business. Everybody is liable to be foolish and to 
do unaccountable things. The business in hand 
is preventing congestion or hypertrophy of the 
membrane of the bronchia and larynx. Let us 
forget the cause until you are strong again. Do 
you feel as though cold were settling in your 
eyes.^ ” 

“No,” she replied, stiffening up at the rebuff. 
“ I am as well as usual, except for this cough.” 

For the moment he lost sight of the woman in 
the patient, and it did not occur to him that she 
might misunderstand his professional manner, 
which was always distinct and apart from his social 
ease and charm. Layton was a man who never 
lost his dignity under any circumstances, but this 
dignity was divided by two, — a jovial, merry, boy- 
ish dignity, resembling his laugh in its attractive- 
ness, and a commanding, serious, imperative dig- 
nity ; the first native, the second adopted gradually 
through the necessities of a medical profession. 

When hysterical women consulted him, and, as 
though overcome by his diagnosis, threw them- 
selves into his arms, he knew by experience how 


The Professor’s Daughter 169 

to get rid of them as soon as possible, and when 
more depraved women did the same thing with 
worse motives he knew how to say, “ Madam, this 
bell at my hand will bring my maid at one touch, 
and a man servant at two. I protect myself 
against blackmailing.” His sterner side also 
stood as a support for men and women whose lives 
his professional opinion blasted, although, in these 
sad cases, his sympathy could be relied upon, his 
strength was even more to them because it bore 
them up and gave them courage. 

Everett Layton was not a candidate for canon- 
ization. His temptations had been innumerable, 
and his power of resistance had proved him false 
many times because he was a man, not a spiritual 
exemplar; but whatever else he might be, he was 
a friend to every person who came in his way. It 
was not only easier for him to love than to hate, 
but “ Love one another ” and the Golden Rule 
constituted the only creed he accepted. But when 
attending Louise, the Doctor, in attempting to 
keep himself well in hand, no doubt overdid the 
professional manner, — at least, she felt that he 
did; but she was sliding into a condition of inde- 
cision where he was concerned which rendered her 
supersensitive in all her relations with him. 

After that first attempt, she not only avoided 
the subject of the accident, but said nothing to 
him except in reply to his questions. The last 
time he saw her in her room she was sitting by 
the window, dressed in a soft white robe, Avhich 
gave her the peculiarly childish look white clothes 


170 The Professor’s Daughter 

always did. Her father said as he entered with 
Layton : “ She is sitting up, you see, Doctor. 
May she go down-stairs to-morrow when your 
Uncle Billy comes } ” 

“ So the patient is behaving herself well, is 
she.^” replied Layton, relaxing somewhat in his 
speech. I see no reason why she should not go 
down, provided Melissa keeps up the fire. Dur- 
ing this week, and especially since the storm night 
before last, winter has begun to mutter in the air. 
I came in now because I am obliged to go to town 
this afternoon and cannot see you again for several 
days. I’ll be back the last of the week for a few 
more days of rest before settling down for the 
winter. When I return I’ll expect to see the pa- 
tient looking brighter. Why so apathetic. Miss 
Fremont. Are you still so weak.^ ” 

*^No,” she replied indifferently. I am doing 
very well. The cough is much better. When is 
01 coming to see me.^ ” 

‘‘He said to tell ‘gurl ’ he never was better in 
his life, and hoped she was the same. He will 
come whenever you are able to see him.” 

“ Then will you be kind enough to tell him I 
wish he would come up to-morrow afternoon? ” 
she asked, without looking at him. 

“Certainly I will. There goes Jim Clarke 
now; I hear him talking. I’ll tell him to deliver 
the message. I’m on my way to Shannock. Ex- 
cuse me while I call him.” 

“Please do not trouble about it. Doctor Lay- 
ton,” replied Louise, detaining him by the tone in 


The Professor’s Daughter 171 

her voice. Miss Melissa will send down word. 
Do not let us detain you one moment longer than 
is necessary.” 

He turned back from the door and looked at her 
silently. He had always taken Charles Dickens 
as an authority in declaring women to be rum 
critters,” but just what was the matter with this 
one he could find no answer to, for he knew he 
was no worse than he had been before the acci- 
dent, when she at least treated him civilly. 

“Just as you say. Miss Fremont,” he replied; 
“ you seem to be in pretty good bodily condition, 
so I can be of no further use. I will go on up to 
Shannock and tell Uncle Billy he need feel no 
alarm. Good-morning. Don’t come down. Pro- 
fessor. I am well used to the stairs. Good-by. 
You must take some comfort. Professor; your 
daughter’s condition is almost normal.” 

He passed out of the door without glancing at 
Louise, who, as soon as he was in the hall, said 
quickly to her father, “ Call Doctor Layton back, 
father. I wish to speak to him.” 

At the Professor’s call Layton returned and 
stood in the doorway. Louise looked straight at 
him, penitently, as she said, “ Forgive me, will 
you.^ You have been so kind.” 

He replied: “You are much easier to forgive 
than to understand. Perhaps you can explain at 
another time. Good-by.” He went out and 
closed the door behind him. 

“ I did not quite gather the force of those last 
remarks passed between you and the Doctor, 


172 The Professor’s Daughter 


Louie, dear,” said her father after he had heard 
Layton go down-stairs. 

They had very little force, father, and were 
not worth noticing. I think I shall lie down a 
while, if you will cover me up and go down-stairs 
yourself for a sunning on the porch.” 

“ I fear you might be lonely, Louie. I am so 
restless while I know you are ill and alone. 
What a helpless old man I should be without my 
daughter. The thought of you as you lay like 
dead in Everett Layton’s arms is like a nightmare 
to me still.” 

She looked up quickly when he mentioned Lay- 
ton’s arms. After he finished speaking she 
walked over to where he sat, and pressing his 
head to her side said : “ How much trouble I have 
caused, father, by my foolish action ! They had 
both warned me many times. I am ashamed of 
my own weakness. Look at me now and forget 
that picture. Put me on the bed and I think I 
will go to sleep. Take your book, — be sure to put 
on your overcoat and hat ; the Doctor said it is 
growing cold, you know, — and forget all about 
stupid me while you read. There’s a dear, now.” 

He obeyed her still with reluctance. All dur- 
ing the week he had been miserable out of her 
sight. Even now, when reassured as to her con- 
dition, he did not seem to regain his ordinary ner- 
vous strength, unstrung by the shock of his recent 
alarm. 

Professor Fremont looked tired and old as he 
sat bundle-d up on the porch a few minutes later. 


The Professor’s Daughter 173 

looking off at the ocean and living over the recent 
danger his daughter had encountered. He also 
reviewed the scene just passed with Everett Lay- 
ton, admitting to himself that frequently the two 
young people perplexed him in their relations to 
each other. 

Even though his living altitude above the things 
of the earth was high, he could with a bird’s-eye 
view imagine a romantic relation between his 
daughter and Billy Everett’s nephew. The 
thought was to him so harmonious and fitting that 
he relished it, but he unwillingly admitted to him- 
self that there seemed to be no indication of such 
a consummation, because Louise was more distant 
in her manner with Layton than he had ever seen 
her with any one, not excepting the Professor with 
greedy table manners. 

He pondered upon the rare occurrence of matri- 
monial affiliations between the young following 
the wishes of parents ; but being a wise as well as 
a delicate-minded man, he knew that parents can 
in wisdom only patiently wait upon the impulses 
of their children where such matters are con- 
cerned. Following this thought came a flood of 
his own youthful remembrances. 

During the past month his mind had dwelt con- 
tinuously upon the wife of his youth, whose mem- 
ory he idealized into exquisite proportions more 
satisfying to his nature than the reality would 
have been. At that moment Melissa Stillman 
came out on the porch, clothed in a heavy stuff 
gown, a navy-blue calico apron, a red worsted hood 


174 The Professor’s Daughter 

on her head, and her smile, of which there was 
more than usual. “I’ve jus’ been out feedin’ 
them turkeys. Professor,” she said, addressing him 
directly, “an’ seein’ you settin’ here I ’lowed I 
might’s well come an’ ask if you’s clothed warm 
’nough fur such a day, bein’ s yure daughter ain’t 
able to look after you fur the time bein’, an’ 
men folks ain’t no ’count nohow tendin’ to their- 
selves.” 

“Thank you. Miss Stillman, you are very 
thoughtful of my comfort, but I am feeling quite 
warm. I thank you, though, for your kind con- 
sideration,” he replied pleasantly. 

“There ain’t no call fur thanks. It’s a real 
pleasure to ’tend to a man who’s as mild man- 
nered an’ lamblike’s you be. I ain’t used to ’em 
o’ that kind. I ain’t. The men folks ’bout 
Weecapaug, all ’cept 01 Peckham, ha’ more minds 
o’ their own than’s good fur ’em an’ fur their 
women folk’s well.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Stillman,” replied he, hardly 
knowing how to accept her evidently intentional 
compliment. 

“I’ll jus’ set along o’ you an’ keep you com- 
pany a minute or two. This be my time fur tad- 
polin’, between chores an’ dinner.” 

“ That is right. Rest a while. We rarely see 
you rest any; you are such a busy person.” 

“ Restin’ tires me when it’s jus’ settin’ round. 
I’d like real well to go ’bout the hul world pleas- 
uring same’s you folks does, but the chance ain’t 
fur me, seems like.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 175 

“ Do you never go away from home on visits ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Sometimes, when I’m asked,” she replied, 
smiling more. But I ain’t been to any distance 
more’n Shannock in all my days. It’d suited me 
real well to live in the city an’ learn to play the 
piany, — I’d jus’ love to do that, fur I’m crazy 
’bout music. My brother’s daughter’s got a piany 
an’ she plays it lovely. Who’s wheels be them I 
hear.? Sure’s you’re alive, it be Mr. Everett. 
He ain’t been so neighborly in years ’s since you 
folks come.” 

Melissa started up with a jerk to welcome Mr. 
Everett, and the Professor breathed freer. He 
was always nervous in her society. She seemed 
to him intrusive with no intention of being so, 
and her physical defects jarred upon his sensibili- 
ties. 

Mr. Everett had come with a purpose. He 
broke into the subject directly. 

“ I met Everett on the road and asked him if he 
did not think Louise was staying down here too 
late in the season with such a cough. I told him 
my plan to have you both come over to Shannock 
right away, if she is able to be moved, and he as- 
sured me it was the most brilliant idea I had ever 
evolved.” 

Just then Louise’s voice was heard calling to 
them from the window above: “Father, don’t I 
hear Uncle Billy ? Have the fire burning, for I 
am coming down right away.” 

She joined them in a few moments, and in that 


176 The Professor’s Daughter 

congenial conclave it did not take long to decide 
upon Mr. Everett’s hospitable scheme in the affirm- 
ative ; but they agreed not to make the move until 
Doctor Layton’s return from town, when they could 
receive his assurance of the safety for Louise in 
taking the long drive while her cough hung on. 

“ How can you choose between 01 and me, 
Louise.? ” Uncle Billy asked laughingly. 

“ I have no choice,” she answered. One good 
thing makes way for another.” 


TWELFTH CHAPTER 


Those who know the sea and its shore only in 
summer time miss its acquaintance at the season 
of its most noble beauty. Just as with a woman 
who is charming in her early maidenhood, but fas- 
cinating in maturity with a grandeur and depth of 
nature impossible to the period of bud or first 
bloom, so is it with the seashore. The autumn in 
America by the sea has a unique charm. The air 
seems to be filled with gold, strained as it falls 
from the sun by the intensely blue sky. Every 
color, every shadow, is bold. The outdoor world 
grows more vigorous while still retaining its sensu- 
ous charm. 

In October there is no suggestion of approach- 
ing dissolution ; it is the life of nature at its most 
brilliant stage — life full of color, freedom, action, 
grapes and their juices, birds on the wing, sing- 
ing, calling: “we must start for the South. 
Come on ! Come on ! ” for their instincts tell 
them that the northwest wind is gathering its 
forces and that the smile of the sea hides the 
murderous spirit of winter. 

The little wake-up peeps his pleasure in being 
alive; the blue] ay, like the peacock, and some 
people of equally fine feather, makes more noise 
than any one else in the bird-world, and less 
12 


178 The Professor’s Daughter 


music ; the mother-quail sits under a clump of low 
bushes teaching her little ones to whistle, regard- 
less of the huntsman listening, listening, and echo- 
ing the whistle to raise her mate, the loons and 
the cranes stand on the marsh in military rows 
until suddenly they flap their huge wings, mount- 
ing and floating through the golden air like black 
ships in full sail. The sky has many moods dur- 
ing these days, but enjoyment lurks behind them 
all, with the one exception of the punishing nor’- 
easter. Sometimes an Indian summer day will 
come before its time. When the haze rises over 
sea and hillocks, softening the expression of na- 
ture, then white streaks come into the sky ; the 
birds grow dreamy, inactive, and the waters sink 
into tranquillity. The vessels hug the shore, be- 
calmed, and the sun turns a threatening, flery 
monster as it sinks back at evening into the pur- 
ple mist. And the glory of the foliage on the 
hillocks ! There is no visible green or yellow left 
on the leaves at a distance ; all is red, red, undu- 
lating waves of red, relieved at Weecapaug by 
clumps of savins high up at the top of the hills, 
forever waving farewell to the passing seasons, 
standing, themselves unchanged, through the 
years. 

The first time Louise Fremont walked out after 
her weeks of retirement, she loitered along the 
road to the bridge alone, feeling the force of Na- 
ture’s enchantment and wondering why it need 
end as must her life at Weecapaug — happier than 
any she had known before — come to a pause, to be 


The Professor’s Daughter 


179 


taken up again in the future, she hoped. 01 was 
waiting for her at the bridge. He had promised 
to take her to a fresh-water pond back in the 
woods belonging to the Clarkes as a last pleasure 
trip before the end would come on Saturday, when 
the Fremonts expected to leave the beach. 

She had never seen this pond, pronounced by; 
01 ^‘Jus’ the loveliest place on the hul earth.’* 
Louise was surprised to see 01 without the boat. 
He walked to meet her, saying as he approached, 
’’ Be yu some tuckered, gurl, by walkin’ ? ” 

No, not at all, 01,” she answered. “ I’m per- 
fectly well again in my body, but I cannot help 
’ botherin’,’ as you say, about the trouble I gave 
you and everybody else by my rash act.” 

“Jus’ stop botherin’, gurl. ’Tain’t no good 
nohow. Folks be al’ays workin’ up nor’easters 
inside theirselves all fur nothin’. If all folks 
wa’n’tany foolisher ’n yu be I cal’late the world’d 
move on better. I give them carpenters the 
money yu’re father sent ’em, an’ they w’s pleased 
though they says ’twan’t wuth it. There wa’n’t 
nothin’ else to be done under the circumstan- 
ces. 

“ I am glad if they were pleased. I do hope the 
boats will be saved, too. I never can thank you, 
01, for nearly giving your life for me. I failed 
the other day, you know, when I tried. ” 

“Stop tryin’. That’s the thing to do. ’A 
miss’s ez good’s a mile,’ an’ I didn’t git drounded, 
so there ain’t no call for thanks.” 

“You are a brave man, 01. I wish I could do 


i8o The Professor’s Daughter 

something to show you how much 1 appreciate 
what you did for me. I have brought down a lit- 
tle present I wish you to accept from my father 
and me. Mr. Everett bought it for us so that I 
could give it to you myself. Miss Melissa said 
you had no watch. Do you want one.^” She 
handed him a box, which he took more deliber- 
ately than usual. 

“ See here, gurl,” he said without opening the 
box, “ I don’t want no rewards fur savin’ o’ yu’re 
life. It were wuth my own life to’ve saved yu. 
I wanted to. Don’t yu understand.? ’Twa’n’t 
like them carpenters savin’ us, ’twere ” — he 
paused, looking down at the box — “ ’twere jus’ 
because I couldn’t let yu die. Oh, I can’t make 
yu sensible o’ my meanin’ — ’tain’t no use to try. 
I’d had to o’ died anyway if yu had.” 

“Yes, perhaps I might have dragged you down, 
but you could have let me go and saved yourself,” 
she replied, looking at him affectionately, as she 
would have glanced at a faithful dog had he saved 
her life. 

“Oh, well, ’tain’t wuth talkin’ ’bout, anyway. 
I can’t make yu sensible o’ my meanin’, an’ it’s 
jus’ ’s well I can’t. If yu folks give me this ’s a 
present to remember yu by, all right, but I don’t 
want no rewards fur doin’ what I jus’ had to do 
fur myself.” 

“ Anyway that you will take it, 01, I give it to 
you. Open the box and look at it. Read the 
inscription in the back of the case.” He untied 
the package, and the child in him was happy at 


The Professor’s Daughter i8i 

once over the gold watch. “ Read out the words 
yureself, gurl, I’d like to hear yu,” he said, smil- 
ing happily. 

*“To Oliver Peckham, from his friend, Louise 
Fremont, in remembrance of his heroism in saving 
her life.’ 

How do you like it, 01.^ ” 

“It’s jus’ lovely, gurl. I’m real proud to have 
it. I never seen one I liked better, an’ I’ll read 
that writin’ in the back lots o’ times when I’m 
lonesome all my life.” 

They sat on the shore of the Breach in the 
shade of the bridge, looking the watch over and 
talking about it like two children, until Louise, 
hearing the splash of oars, glanced back and saw 
Doctor Layton rowing toward the bridge from the 
camp. “Here comes Doctor Layton,” she said. 
“What does this mean.^ Aren’t you going to 
take me to the little lake, 01.^ ” 

“No, gurl. I jus’ can’t do it. They’ve sent 
fur me to go up home. I don’t know what fur, 
but their sendin’ means bizness al’ays, so I’ve got 
to let Doc take yu stead o’ me. Do yu mind ? ” 
“No, I don’t mind, but I thought we were to 
have a last row together. Does he know the 
place ? ” she replied, opening and shutting the lid 
of the box she held in her hands. 

“ Land, yes. Doc knows Clarke’s pond better’n 
I do, if anything. It’s a favorite place o’ his’n. ” 
Layton was by this time within speaking dis- 
tance of them. He dropped one oar and raised 
his gunning cap to Louise as he called out : “I’m 


1 82 The Professor’s Daughter 

afraid I’m late. I stopped to clean out my gun. 
Am I acceptable as a substitute, Miss Fremont ? ” 
“ If you know the way, I’ve no doubt we will 
get there and back without quarrelling,” Louise 
replied in a defiant way she used latterly toward 
Layton more than ever. 

“Yu can’t quarrel with Doc,” said 01, helping 
Louise into the boat. “ He ain’t the quarrellin’ 
kind. He’d jus’ git up and leave yu settin’ by 
yureself if yu tried it on him. Wouldn’t yu. 
Doc.?” 

“Oh, I’m not always as angelic as when I am 
with you, 01. Miss Fremont doesn’t think I am a 
bit so. ” Without apparently heeding Layton’s re- 
mark, Louise said : “ Are you going with us, 01 .? ” 
“Yes, ’s fur’s the Clarkes. Doc’ll dump me 
there an’ walk yu back over the hill a ways. ’ 

None of them talked much as they rowed along. 
01 showed Layton his present, which furnished 
enough conversation for a while ; but afterward it 
lagged. Layton had come up the Breach, filled 
with a purpose that weighed him down. Louise 
was still sensitive over his recent brusqueness, and 
01 was puzzled at the evident antagonism existing 
between the two. 

A slowly rising hill formed the background of 
the Clarkes’ farm. That day it glowed with frost- 
bitten huckleberry and bayberry bushes, through 
which the cows had made a path over the hill lead- 
ing to a round pond of fresh water only a mile in 
circumference. They crossed this low hill, he 
leading the way with his gun over his shoulder. 


The Professor’s Daughter 183 

pressing aside the bushes and knocking off the 
stickers as a means to her comfort in following 
him. At the top of the hill he paused. Facing 
about, he said, indicating with his free arm : “ Turn 
around and behold the glory of God in a wonder- 
ful expanse.” 

For miles and miles to the south, east, and west 
the waters rolled, broken in the foreground by the 
dunes and many tiny islands in the upper Breach 
called the Pond. It was a day with a sunny mood 
colored in blue and gold. The world seemed 
made for them alone, and they silently gave thanks 
standing there together. Neither spoke for sev- 
eral minutes, but Layton watched his companion. 
For a moment she forgot him; then turning and 
looking directly into his eyes, she said : “How can 
mortals be what they are when they look at God’s 
handiwork.? ” 

“ God made them, too, if He made all this 
beauty, and you forget how ugly, sullen, and cruel 
even this evidence of His handiwork can become. 
As you look off you think of this as being always 
lovely, exactly as you idealize human nature ; but 
one is not so any more than the other.” 

“ I know that,” she replied; “but why is it so.? 
What is the ugliness for .? Why is it not always 
beautiful .? ” 

“ Do not ask a mere man to explain the first 
principles of creation. Only face the fact and 
make the best of it. However, I believe that 
ugliness, sin, and pain bear a most important part 
in development. Shall we go on.? ” 


184 The Professor’s Daughter 


She lingeringly turned to follow him again 
along the path. Presently she said : “I do not 
suppose I see as much of that world you showed 
me then as you do. My vision grows no better 
at Weecapaug, Doctor Layton, although in every 
other way I feel regenerated. I fear your experi- 
ment has proved a failure.” 

“ No, it has proved a success, as I will demon- 
strate when we reach a mossy bank on the other 
side of the pond, where we can talk without inter- 
ruption. I came with an object to-day, Miss 
Fremont. I wish to talk to you alone, and this 
spot is usually as solitary as the Garden of Eden.” 

“What do you wish to say to me.^ ” she asked, 
trailing her hand through the water as she sat on 
a stump at the edge of the pond, while he carried 
down a skiff dry-docked on the bank and launched 
it in the water. 

“ Be patient until we cross the pond. We will 
row around it in this skiff instead of going straight 
across. I want you to see the full beauty of the 
place.” 

As though growing out of the clear water, the 
trees and bushes hung over it caressingly, bending 
their branches down to its surface which reflected 
them. Willow trees leaned far over, the oaks 
stood erect, but sent down their golden red leaves 
to float on the pond. The poison- ivy hung in 
scarlet profusion on the blueberry bushes, and a 
gray moss clung to the maple trees, dropping long 
ends in festoons from bough to bough. At one end 
of the pond there was a bog in which grew cedar 


The Professor’s Daughter 185 

trees, at the base of whose trunks clustered great 
beds of moss sending forth ferns feathery and 
plumey — a mysterious, elfish spot. All over the 
water floated pond- lily pads, but the blossoms had 
gone by. Blueberries still grew on their bushes 
low enough for Louise to reach them as they 
rowed slowly past. Bullfrogs croaked as they 
sunned themselves on stones at the edge of the 
water; squirrels darted about, and the blue] ays 
hawked occasionally as they brushed in and out 
among the trees. All else was silent, except the 
dipping of the oars, and once in a while low- 
spoken words from the occupants of the boat. 
The wind had sighed heavily on the Breach, but 
back there in the woods it gave no expression. 

When Layton ceased to row, and drew the boat 
up to the shore, Louise felt her heart beat. She 
unreasoningly dreaded what Layton had to say to 
her alone. He led her up a cow- path winding in 
and out among the trees of the ascent on that side 
of the pond. This path was strewn with dead 
leaves of many years, and they rustled mournfully 
under Louise’s feet. They walked along until 
they reached a clearing where grew an isolated 
wide- spreading oak shading an elevation overhang- 
ing the water where the earth was bedded with moss 
and ferns, interrupted by two great flat stones 
placed as though intended for seats under the 
trees. 

“ 01 and I have sat there at intervals ever since 
we were boys,” said Layton. “ See where the 
bark has been shot off of those trees ? We put 


1 86 The Professor’s Daughter 


oyster-shells there as targets for rifle practice 
when we cannot raise any game. Oyster-shells 
are found through these woods. The natives be- 
lieve they are relics of Indian feasts.” 

“ I wonder if that could be so,” replied Louise 
doubtingly. 

“ Did you ever take anything on faith in your 
life, Miss Fremont.^ ” asked Layton. 

“ Is that what you brought me here to talk 
about ” she replied. 

^‘Not exactly, although it is not far off the 
mark. Here, let me make you comfortable on 
that stone. Now, is that right.? I know you 
have less curiosity than most women, but I am 
going to sit down beside you here and ask you to 
listen to me while I tell you something about my- 
self. I have never talked to any one about my 
married life — not even to Uncle Billy; but if I 
can clear myself in your eyes of some of the ac- 
cusations you make against me from hearsay, I 
mean to do so.” 

“ Why do you do this. Doctor Layton .? It must 
be painful to you, and is quite unnecessary.” 

“ No, it is quite necessary to me, because I am 
not willing for you to think me a worse man than 
I am. The truth is, I am a very ordinary person, 
with only the usual vices of men. I am no worse 
and no better than thousands ; but having started 
out in New York under the most favorable aus- 
pices, taken into partnership at an early age by 
an eminent physician, I have made a success at 
my profession earlier than most men do, which 


The Professor’s Daughter 187 

fact has brought my private life before a large 
public. I hope the majority of my acquaintances 
and patients are my friends, but every man has 
his detractors. 

“ When I was twenty-eight years old I married 
a fashionable New York girl six months after I 
met her on shipboard one autumn on my return 
from taking a special ophthalmic course in Vienna. 
While in partnership I was a general practitioner, 
and only entered a specialty at the time of my 
marriage. If you remember Mrs. Layton, you 
know that she was very beautiful in a physical 
way. This beauty enslaved me. I did not stop 
to know anything about her otherwise — I married 
the beauty, and it played me false. What she 
married me for I have never been able to find out, 
because, although I had some income outside of 
my profession, I was not what she would have 
called a rich man, and she had money of her own. 
Perhaps I had the same kind of attraction for her 
that she had for me; at any rate, after a few 
months of married life she ceased to pretend to 
care for me ” 

“Doctor Layton,” interrupted Louise, “do you 
think it is best to go on> You might regret after- 
ward.” 

“I’ll take the risk,” he replied. “One morn- 
ing during my office hours I was taken with one 
of the severe neuralgic headaches I am subject to. 
I stood it as long as I could, then decided to go 
home and to bed. I let myself in with my latch- 
key, and went into my library through portieres 


1 88 The Professor’s Daughter 


between it and a short cross-hall covered with a 
soft velvet carpet noiseless to my steps. As I 
entered I saw Mrs. Layton standing in the arms 
of a man I knew well at my club. His back was 
turned, so that he did not see me, but I looked in- 
to her eyes over his shoulder, then turned and left 
the room. For several days I waited for her to 
explain. She avoided me, and said nothing about 
the incident. Finally I asked her for an explana- 
tion. She laughed and said, ‘ There is no explan- 
ation. You saw it all. Men have their diver- 
sions, so must women.’ ‘Do you love this man.^ ’ 
I demanded. ‘No, not particularly,’ she replied. 
‘There are several others I love as well, but he 
amuses me for the moment, and you don’t any 
more.’ I confess I was stunned by this cold- 
blooded reply. I thought I knew all kinds of 
women, but this was a new species to be found in 
respectable society.” 

“ Doctor Layton, remember she was your wife ! ” 
interposed Louise, whose face was growing white 
and intense. 

“ Never from that moment was she my wife ! 
From the day I married her until that moment I 
had been absolutely faithful to her. I wanted no 
such wife, and told her so, threatening to follow 
in poor Uncle Billy’s footsteps and obtain a legal 
separation. She told me to do as I pleased about 
it, but that for the sake of her family and my own 
it would be best to live in the same house, know- 
ing well that she touched me at a sensitive point 
when she said that. Do you wonder that I did 


The Professor’s Daughter 189 

not stay at home much after that ? A few months 
later we were at a ball together, and as I passed 
the half -open door of a small conversation-room I 
saw reflected in a mirror hanging in the hall Mrs. 
Layton in the act of being kissed by another man 
I knew. She seemed to be entirely without dis- 
cretion. Could I trust or respect any woman after 
this ? Had she honestly loved some other man, it 
would have been better ; but she had no capacity 
for honest affection of any kind — she was a profli- 
gate of whom I have since found there are many 
in what is called fashionable society — the Ameri- 
can butterflies of the deau monde adopting foreign 
customs. 

We continued to live in the same house, be- 
cause I was a proud man and despised publicity, 
until one day she took a violent cold and in a 
short time died of pneumonia. In order to shield 
herself she started, through her dear women 
friends, many of the reports you have doubtless 
heard about me. She knew that I would never 
speak, and that she must account for her own be- 
havior in some way. She even did me the honor 
to tell me just before she died that I was the only 
man she had ever respected. So, you see, I have 
never had a home since my early youth, when 
both of my parents died, except the one Uncle 
Billy has made for me ; but a man cannot have a 
home without some woman he loves in it, whether 
she be mother, sister, or wife. 

“ I remember distinctly how, the night I met 
you first and took you in to dinner, we sat directly 


1 90 The Professor’s Daughter 

opposite Mrs. Layton, and I wondered how two 
women so totally different could be born into the 
same world. She was using all her blandishments 
on some foreigner — successfully, too — while you 
sat beside me without an effort to fascinate, tell- 
ing me that only man was vile ; and still your cold, 
pure face never afterward left my memory, al- 
though I did not see you again for all those years 
except casually a few times that winter. 

“ I tell you this now because I love you, and 
therefore you have the right to know why I am 
what I am. Louise, do you understand that I love 
you as I never have loved before — with an adora- 
tion that almost means religion to me ? I never 
knew a woman like you before, and I am a better 
man for knowing you. You will be my wife, 
Louise, and help me to strive for the development 
of the best in me instead of the worst? You re- 
fused to be my friend; will you be my wife? ” 

He leaned toward her, his blue eyes almost 
purple with intensity and the love no woman 
could doubt. Louise had thrown her head back 
against the tree, and now replied with the first 
sound of tears in her voice he had ever heard : 

“ Oh, why, why have you done this ? How can 
I be your wife ? Would you have me marry you 
from pity of your past unhappiness? How can I 
marry a man whose life I do not respect? You 
tell me all of this as an excuse for yourself for 
being like thousands of other men. The man I 
could marry must not be like other men. His life 
must be as virtuous as my own ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 191 

“ Louise, look straight at me and say you do 
not love me ! ’' commanded Layton. 

She avoided his eyes by closing her own, and 
was silent. “ Look at me and say it, Louise,” he 
repeated, bending over her. 

“ I cannot,” she replied piteously. “It would 
be a lie. I do love you in one way, but not the 
best way. I could never trust a physical love, as 
this must be, when I do not respect you. I love 
you, but I do not love your sins. When I am 
with you there is no world to me without you ; but 
when I get away from your personal influence and 
think, I know you are not my ideal, and I could 
not marry a man who is not. Think of your own 
experience.” She covered her eyes with her 
hands, as if blindness to his presence were her 
only safeguard. 

“ I have heard you say that 01 was your ideal. 
Could you marry him.? ” he asked. 

“ No, no ! ” she replied. “ That is different.” 

“ Yes, different as far as education goes, but the 
purity of your ideal man is there. He has led a 
blameless life. The temptations of the flesh are 
not to 01 what they are to other men. Is a man 
to be judged by the amount of evil he has in him, 
or the amount of evil he has overcome.? You 
know so little of real life that you hold one stand- 
ard up for all men without taking into account 
their different natures, nor do you give them credit 
for the amount of resistance they have put forth. 
I confess that my life has not been like yours, but 
neither have your temptations been like mine, and 


192 The Professor’s Daughter 

I have not been one-fourth as bad as I might have 
been. Don’t you realize that I know myself un- 
worthy of you as well as you know me to be ; but 
have you no forgiveness.^ Have you no desire 
to help me to live for you ? Mine is a nature de- 
pendent upon human influence. You will say, 
why not live the best you know for right’s sake.^ 
Some men can do that — my weakness is in need- 
ing some one to live for. I have never had any one, 
and am that much worse off. Louise, I love you. 
Let me take care of you. Let me hold you in my 
arms as I did when you asked me to carry you all 
the way, confessing how lonely you often are ” 

“ When did I do that? ” she asked, opening her 
eyes and looking at him. 

“ The day 01 saved your life. I carried you 
from the beach to the cart.” 

“ Then I did not dream that ! It was true. I 
want the love and companionship all women want, 
but I would be afraid to marry you unless I could 
see life as you do. I might grow to despise you. 
There is only one standard of right, and men as 
well as women ought to be outcasts from society 
who fall below it.” 

Then you think yourself capable of making a 
standard for the many millions, do you? ” he asked 
almost bitterly. “ Go out into the world, my 
child, and learn to know its woes, meet tempta- 
tions, poverty, illness, sorrow in every form, with 
unswerving resistance, then sit calmly and say 
what you do now, and you will have some right to 
speak. 


The Professor’s Daughter 193 

“ Why, child, you did not even control a whim 
to row down the Breach alone when you had been 
warned against it, and you cast me out into utter 
darkness because I am not a perfect man ! ” 

And you are the only one to reproach me for 
that folly. I know there is a grain of truth in 
what you say, but I cannot understand it. Per- 
haps some day I may, and ” she hesitated. 

‘‘ And, Louise, and what ? Then you will come 
to me.? ” he asked eagerly. 

“Oh, I don’t know! It is all so hard! I 
wish I did not care for you ! I am learning now 
what temptation means,” she cried. “ Don’t you 
see that if I should marry you, and lose this feel- 
ing through lack of respect, our lives would be 
miserable.? I am uncompromisingly honest. I 
would not live with you if I did not love you.” 

“Yes, I begin to understand you, dear,” replied 
Layton gently. “ Nor would I wish you to be my 
wife until you feel differently about it. I said 
this to you now after so short an acquaintance 
because I am perfectly sure of myself, and I was 
in hopes you would give me the right to help you 
bear a great trouble that you must inevitably face. 
If I could take you in my arms and say, ‘I will try 
to be the man you could love if you will let me 
share your burden and lead you through the dark- 
ness to come ’ ” 

“ What do you mean by * darkness ’ .? Is it true 
what I have feared.? ” she cried, straightening up 
and staring at him. 

“ Let me take your hand, Louise. Just let me 

13 


194 The Professor’s Daughter 

show my love that much, so that I may help you 
bear it,” he hesitated; but she hardly noticed that 
he took her hand in both of his strong but gentle 
hands. “Let me help you bear it,” he repeated. 
“ How can I see you walk through the valley of 
the shadow alone, Louise.? How can I tell you 
this.? It almost makes a baby of me ” 

“ Say it. Doctor Layton, say it ! ” — she clung to 
his hands. “ Do you mean blindness.? ” 

“I mean, dear, that cataract is growing over 
both of your eyes, that the crystalline lenses were 
in an advanced state of disease when you came to 
me, and that I can do nothing for you, nor can 
any one else, until it has entirely covered the 
eyes, when it can be operated upon and you may 
see again. This growth, as it seems to you, may 
take a few years or it may take many. There is 
no means of knowing; and I want to lead you 
through the twilight in my arms, Louise, but you 
will not let me.” 

She had sat still staring at him as he talked, 
but now she said slowly : “lam going blind. Not 
to see, not to know the beauty of the world, not 
to see your face, not to see father. I don’t be- 
lieve it ! I don’t believe it ! I can see across 
the pond. Shoot a cartridge, and I’ll tell you 
what it hits. I can’t go blind; you are only tell- 
ing me that in revenge for what I won’t do ! ” 

She pulled her hand away and turned her face 
from him. He moved closer to her, and threw 
one arm around her shoulder. “ You do not mean 
that, dear,” he said. “ It is an awful truth, but 


The Professor’s Daughter 195 

there is light at the end of it. The waiting for 
utter darkness is the worst part. You must call 
in another opinion when you go up to town, and 
be perfectly satisfied about it. I sent you down 
here, not to cure your eyes, but to strengthen your 
body against this blow, and to soften your heart 
and judgment by contact with the children of 
Nature. You must see another specialist and be 
satisfied with my diagnosis, or ” 

“ Don’t ! ” she burst out. “ Do you think I 
doubt you.? I have felt it coming myself. How 
can I bear it.? What shall I do.? Not to see! 
Keep it from me, Everett, keep it away from me 1 
Don’t let it come.” She turned her face so it 
pressed against his shoulder, as though to hide 
her eyes from their doom, and he held her close in 
his arms. 

“ I would not have told you, my Louise, had I 
not known that once away from this life you 
would strain your eyes in your devotion to your 
father’s pursuits and your own love of study. 
Remember that you may grow to be an old woman 
before the sight is entirely obscured ” 

“ And live all those years without reading, only 
seeing things dimly ! I saw an old woman once 
who had waited fifteen years for the film to cover 
her eyes, and she could do nothing but knit stock- 
ings by the sense of touch. Can’t you see me 
knitting stockings.?” — and she laughed bitterly, 
drawing herself away from him. Doctor Lay- 
ton,” she continued, ''did you ask me to be your 
wife because you pitied me ? I talked about pity- 


196 The Professor’s Daughter 

ing you, didn’t I? while you were pitying me all 
the time. Oh, it is cruel ! But you are a gener- 
ous man.” The large, slow tears gathered in her 
eyes, and she bit her lips to keep them back. 

“ Louise, will you never say that again ? ” Lay- 
ton said. “ I asked you to be my wife because I 
love you more than an ordinary man knows how 
to tell. I would be whatever you wished me to be 
as your husband. There would be no generosity 
on my part in doing the thing that would give me 
the greatest joy on earth. It would only be a self- 
ish pleasure for me to be with you through the 
darkness. Try to soften your heart to my faults, 
Louise ; try to know the charity that is kind, and 
I will come to you again some day and ask the 
question over again. ” 

“No; this is the end,” she replied. “I could 
never be a burden to any man — not even to you. 
I must walk the path alone ; not even father must 
know yet a while ; he is growing feeble, and the 
shock of my accident completely upset him. I 
believe you love me — could any woman doubt it 
after such a display of unselfishness — but I have 
lived alone most of my life, and must do so until 
the end. Take me in your arms again, Everett ; 
I am a very weak woman, after all. I want your 
love so much that I can hardly do this thing. I 
must have a remembrance in my blind old age of 
a lover’s touch. All women have that but me. 
I never cared for any man but you, and no man 
has ever touched me before in this way.” He 
held her in his arms again and kissed her lips. 


The Professor’s Daughter 197 

“It can harm no one, can it?” she went on, 
letting one hand linger on his hair and shoulders, 
“for me to kiss the man I love good-by? We 
must not see each other alone any more. I might 
give in and repent afterward. ’Tis hard to prac- 
tise what one preaches. A blind wife who says 
she does not respect him would not be an enviable 
possession for any man, would she? ” 

“ Louise, I wish you would let the tears come. 
Cry, if you can, but do not talk like that. I am 
going to guard you through life this way, and I 
confidently believe it will not be long before the 
cataract can be operated upon and you will see as 
well as ever.” 

“ Do not try to bolster me up with possibilities. 
You are not going to guard me through life this 
way. I am letting you say good-by. Say it now 
for the last time. We must go. I must be alone 
to fight it out with myself. Everett, will you do 
one thing for me? Try to do as you said you 
would if I were your wife. Try to live for me — 
at least, until you forget me. Make your light so 
shine that I may know your love for me has helped 
you ; then if one day I should go to you and say, 

' Dearest, I have learned the lesson of human love 
and charity together, and my pride is humbled so 
that I will gladly be a burden to you, ’ I would find 
you striving to live better than thousands of men.” 

“ This I promise as I would take my marriage 
vows — to try my best to live according to your 
standard. If I had you with me always I should 
want nothing else ; it is loneliness that sends half 


igS The Professor’s Daughter 


the men to the devil. I can do nothing but ac- 
cept the inevitable as you make it at present, but 
there are many years before us, and I will live on 
my hope,” he answered solemnly, with a kind of 
gravity not often seen in his face. 

“ Good-by ! ” she repeated. “ Good-by ! Blind ! 
Blind ! Blind ! Can you think what that means ? 
I cannot bear it! My brain is going dizzy! 
Will it burst ? Ah ! ” 

With that last heavy sigh she threw herself 
down on the ground, deep sobs shaking her body. 
She could not remember ever crying before in 
her life. The physician knew this outburst was 
good for her, and he let her alone, except as he 
gave his hand into the nervous clasp of hers as 
she held on to him like a drowning person grasp- 
ing a spar. Louise Fremont’s life had hitherto 
been almost gray in its placidity. 

Endurance is not only a question of nature, 
but largely of habit. People become stoical after 
years of hardships simply because there is no 
alternative, and they grow used to bearing what 
must be borne, just as a bird sings in a cage. 
Louise had never suffered before objectively, and 
for the moment she was prostrated ; but gradually 
her native reserve came to her rescue. Once self- 
consciousness returned, pride recalled her self- 
control, and she followed Layton back to the boat 
in a state of strained composure. They looked for 
01 on the way back, and Layton called him, but 
he did not appear. 

When they started down the Breach toward 


The Professor's Daughter 


199 


home, she said : “ Let me change my seat so that I 
may not lose one minute of this sunset. There 
may not be many more for me.” 

He seated her comfortably with her back to him 
as he rowed. They both quietly watched the 
colors fade from the western sky, and owing to 
the short days, saw at the same time the moon 
silvering overhead as the sunlight disappeared. 
Louise sat resting her chin in both hands, her 
head uncovered, for she held her hat in one hand 
pressed against her cheek, her elbows supported 
by her knees. Her tendency seemed to be to 
huddle herself into the smallest space possible. 
Without moving, she said, in a vacant, unrhythmic 
way : “ Doctor Layton, is it not strange that of all 
the thousands of people I have met in my life, only 
one should be able to possess me in this way.? 
Every woman has lovers, and of course some men 
have said they loved me, but I never felt anything 
for any one of them. When I was only seventeen, 
a young college boy was my nearest friend, and I 
suppose I cared for him as silly girls do care at 
that age ; but he died, and I had begun to think I 
had no power of loving like other people. At 
last, when it comes, it is only a sorrow tome.” 

‘T am sorry to hear you say that,” he replied, 
“because the giving out of love in any form ought 
to warm one’s being and make one better even in 
separation. I think I am not only a better man, 
but a happier man for loving you. A great, 
empty space in my thoughts is filled with you and 
my hope for the future.” 


200 The Professor’s Daughter 

“But I have not that hope. I can’t make my- 
self over,” she replied. 

“ No ; but you can add to yourself. I tell you 
what you need is to know real life. If you live on 
earth you must get your earthly bearings. If the 
Creator had intended us to be perfect beings in 
this early stage of evolution, He would have made 
us other than human. The sins you condemn are 
condemnable, but they are no worse than many 
you excuse daily because you have a particular 
abhorrence of one or two kinds of sin, and do not 
recognize others at all. Read your Ten Com- 
mandments when you go home as a starting-point, 
and think about what I have said.” 

“Oh, I’ll think enough! There will be little 
else for me to do. You must not let me keep you 
from Uncle Billy’s house. I Would change the 
plans were not he and father so happy in being 
together again. If you and I cannot be together 
always, we had best never see each other.” 

“ I shall have no time to get out of town until 
Christmas, when I am coming down for the day to 
repeat my question.” 

“ There will be no use in repeating it. I have 
never changed an opinion once formed in my life.” 

“You also say that you never lovjd before, 
dear, ” he replied, leaning forward and turning her 
head so that she was compelled to look at him. 
The color came to her face, and her eyes looked 
happier for one moment ; then he picked up the oar 
and rowed on, while she resumed her former at- 
titude, repeating slowly: “'To be constantly, lov- 


The Professor’s Daughter 201 

ingly grateful for the gift of a perfect love is the 
best illumination of one’s mind to all the possible 
good there may be in store for man on this troub- 
lous little planet.’ George Eliot said that. I 
wonder if it is true.? ” 

“This man finds it true in his case,” Layton 
responded, but she seemed not to hear him. Her 
eyes rested on the dying colors of the west, whose 
growing shadows pictured her own future to her. 


THIRTEENTH CHAPTER 


That evening Layton and 01 put up the 
former’s guns and packed his things ready for an 
early departure in the morning. 01 cooked their 
supper of bluefish and Johnnie cakes, adding some 
of Mrs. Clarke’s mince pies. The two men al- 
ways enjoyed their meals and talks together. 
Layton could rest with 01 at Weecapaug as he 
could nowhere else in the world, because his brain 
was entirely diverted from professional thought by 
the fishing and gunning topics they discussed ex- 
haustively, or by Ol’s quaint humor, always fresh 
and amusing. 

Their existence in the camp was most primitive, 
as there was only the one large room, containing a 
cooking-stove, one chair, a table covered with oil- 
cloth, two bunks built one over the other against 
the side of the wall, and a rude shelf holding the 
crockery, knives and forks, and the coffee-pot. 
After they together washed the supper dishes, 01 
stretched out on the lower bunk, lighting up 
“ Mary Ann ” the while, and Layton took the chair 
near the fire, for the nights were growing cold. 
They smoked a while in silence. Layton was ab- 
stracted, and 01 sleepy, but after a time the latter 
walked over to the stove, and emptied his pipe of 


The Professor’s Daughter 203 

ashes by striking the bowl against the side of the 
wood-box near by, saying with a yawn : 

“ Cal’ late I’ll start up ^ Mary Ann’ again. 
She’s a real comfort jus’ at the aidge o’ the even- 
in’, when a fellar’s sleepy, an’ ’shamed to go to 
bed along ’th the chickens. Ain’t that so, Doc.^ 
Why, Doc! You ain’t goin’ to sleep there 
’Tain’t no kind o’ comfort sleepin’ settin’ up.” 

Layton had dropped the hand holding his cigar 
onto the table, and was tilting his chair back 
against a rough beam, apparently asleep. He 
opened his eyes and asked : “ Did you speak, 01 ? 
What’s up.?” 

“ Oh, nothin’s up but me, an’ I’ll soon be down 
again. Better not go to sleep settin’ there.” 

“ I wasn’t asleep,” returned Layton, resuming 
his cigar. 

“ What be the matter with yu, then .? Be yu 
sick .? ” asked 01, lying down again. 

“No, 01; I was thinking, I suppose. 01, do 
you think I am too bad a man for a decent woman 
to marry .? ” 

“ Bad I Lord sakes ! No ! What yu ever done .? 
Yu ain’t never killed nor robbed anybody’s I know 
of, an’ there ain’t no man alive’s done more fur 
pore folks an’ folks gen ’ ally ’n yu have. Strikes me 
any woman alive ’d be featherin’ her nest well to git 
yu. Thinkin’ ’bout try in’ it again. Doc.?” 

01 looked at him now with wide-awake eyes. 

“Yes, if the woman I want will have me. I’d 
liave better luck this time.” 

“It’s to be hoped for, Doc. We ain’t never 


204 The Professor’s Daughter 

spoke together ’bout the other one — ’tain’t our 
way to talk — but my eyes and ears wa’n’t made 
fur nothin’. Like’s not I hadn’t ought to ask yu 
the question; but ” — he hesitated — “ but won’t she 
have yu, Doc ? ” 

“ No, not now. She won’t marry a man who 
hasn’t lived as straight a life as she has. Of 
course she’s right — but where’s she going to 
find one that has — excepting you } ” 

“An’ she wouldn’t have me, nohow,” said Ol, 
hardly conscious of speaking aloud. Layton looked 
over at him ; but 01 smoked on indifferently, and 
Layton thought he had not understood the remark. 

“ She’ll have you yet. Doc,” 01 went on. “ She 
ain’t same’s other folks — especially women folks. 
’Tain’t ‘jus’ right to call her hard-hearted. I 
guess ign’rant be the word fur her. She’s jus’ 
th’ same’s one of them white gulls, as I tole yu, 
sailin’ way up beyond the world without seein’ 
what’s goin’ on on the ground — then when she 
’lights on a rock or on the ma’sh she don’t know 
’nough to look out fur herself, an’ a shot comes 
along when she ain’t Ipokin’ fur it. Gurl ain’t got 
no learnin’ ’bout folks’. She’s got a pile to learn 
yet; but when she’s got her eyes open she’ll see 
plainer’ n other folks.” 

“ How did you know who I meant, 01 ” asked 
Layton, looking at the long ash on- the light end 
of his cigar. 

“Oh, seein’s knowin’, ’s I’ve tole yu before. 
There ain’t no mistak’n’ a woman’s ways when 
her man’s ’round. She al’ays gits fidg’ty, an’ lets 


The Professor’s Daughter 205 

on she can’t see him cornin’ nohow, an’ acts ’s 
though he’s only good ’nough to walk on in muddy 
shoes, anyway. I’ve saw ’em ’round before this, I 
have. Gurl’s got them symptoms, as you’d call ’em, 
if ’twere a every-day fever. She’ll have yu yet. Doc. 
She’ll jus’ have to. Why, I saved her fur yu.” 

“ 01, I must tell you what I sent her down here 
for. She’s going blind, 01 — that is, she is slowly 
losing her sight — things something like small 
glasses in her eyes are getting thick, as though 
frost had covered them, shutting out the light from 
that place I told you made pictures of everything 
we see. Nothing can be done for her until the 
eye is entirely covered; then an operation will 
remove the trouble and she will see again.” 

“ Doc ! Yu don’t mean it } Gurl goin*’ blind ! 
The pore white dove! Doc, ain’t that jus’ awful! 
Sure yu can’t cure her.? Yu can mos’ folks. 
Can’t yu do nothin’ fur her.? ” 

“ Nothing but marry her and take care of her, 
which she will not let me do.” 

“There ain’t no sense in her actin’ that way. 
What’s she got against yu.? ’’ 

“ She had heard a lot of lies about me in New 
York, and I confessed that I was not what she 
was ” 

“Yu hadn’t ought to ’a’ done that. ’Tain’t 
none o’ women folks’s bizness to know. They’ve 
got ’nough to do to ’tend to their own principles,” 
said 01 more vigorously than usual. 

“ She doesn’t feel that way about it.” 

“ I ain’t got no use fur folk as be al’ays tellin’ 


2 o 6 The Professor's Daughtei 


other folks what they’d ought to do. Oh ! I for- 
got ’twere gurl we’re talkin’ ’bout, but she’s jus’ 
ign’rant. Wait till she’s left alone — the ole man 
ain’t long fur this world — an’ learns some things. 
She’ll never have a better chance, an’ I’d tell her 
to her face she wa’n’t usin’ yu right.” 

“ No, 01, you must never even let her know that 
you guess this. I did not mean to tell you, but 
you were too smart for me. Come, let’s go to 
bed. Talking about it won’t mend matters. She 
said that if she ever came to feel about things the 
way I do, she might marry me, but never before — 
and I don’t want her to.” 

“Well, it’s one too many fur me, the hull biz- 
ness, an’ I ain’t got no right to talk. But I’m 
real sorry fur you. Doc. There ain’t no one I 
think’s much of’ s I do o’ yu, ’s yu know well; an’ 
I saved her fur yu, an’ I ’low she’ll learn ’nough 
to know when she’s well off before she’s through. 
Poor gurl ! Won’t she be lonesome if the ole 
man’s took off an’ she loses her seein’ ? It’ll jus’ 
be awful. Doc ! ” 01 raised himself on his elbow, 

and Layton saw him swallow a lump in his throat. 

“ Yes, 01, it will be awful,” he replied, “and we 
must change her mind some way or other. I sent 
her down here to get strong physically, and to 
know you, Ol.” 

“ Change o’ heart’s what she needs — jus’ ’bout 
what they git at revival meetin’s. I cal’ late 
knowin’ me ain’t made her none softer, ’s I can see. ” 

“ Yes, it has. I can see a marked change in her 
since she came down.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 207 

*‘That comes o’ her feelin’ fur yu, not fur me,” 
replied 01. Layton again looked at him sharply, 
but Ol’s face was as calm as a summer day. 

“ Perhaps you’re right. I hope so. Waken me 
by five if I don’t wake myself.” 

“All right. Doc. I won’t fail yu, ” replied 01; 
and they turned in. 

Louise Fremont passed a night which afterward 
seemed a haunting dream. She rebelled against 
her fate ; against the love come to her in the form 
of a temptation ; against a God that would permit 
her to go blind when she had led a blameless life, 
and deserved no such punishment. 

After hours of this self-torture, like a child 
who, worn out with angry weeping after receiving 
chastisement, goes to sleep from sheer fatigue, she 
became quiet, and by dawn was sleeping heavily 
the tired, aching sleep which brings no rest. She 
did not hear the wheels of the team carrying Doctor 
Layton past the house, nor did she know how he 
felt as he looked up at her window in passing. 
She did not appear at breakfast, but came down 
later, and went fishing with 01. He noticed the 
change in her expression since the day before, but 
said nothing about it. He racked his brain for 
amusing neighborhood anecdotes to tell her, but 
her smile came with difficulty. 

When they returned and landed at the bridge, 
Louise said : “ 01, did you know that I am going 
blind.?” 

“Yes, gurl, an’ I feel fur yu. Doc tole me 
’bout it las’ night, an’ I only wisht I could stop it 


2o8 The Professor’s Daughter. 

cornin’, but nobody can’t if Doc can’t. All folks 
has troubles, an’ yours be jus’ cornin’. The worst 
o’ it be, that folks each allows they’s got the worst 
one to be had. When my drunk ole father turned 
me out on the world once, I ’lowed there wa’n’t 
never anybody treated so bad before ; but jus’ then 
my cousin, him that were runnin’ a train between 
New York an’ Boston, got all smashed up’n a 
wreck, an’ had to have both legs sawed off, an’ his 
woman an’ children didn’t have nothin’ to live on. 
He sent fur me, an’ when I see how they’s fixed 
I ’lowed I were well off, an’ stopped kickin’ same’s 
a unbroke horse. It’s awful, gurl, jus’ awful fur 
yu, but some folks be worse off by a large major’ty, 
an’ when yu feel’s though yu couldn’t stan’ it 
nohow, look ’round an’ find some o’ them folks, an’ 
yu’ll take comfort out o’ seein’ how much worse 
off yu could be, easy.” 

Tears started to her eyes. She held out her 
hand to him. He took it awkwardly at first, then 
held it firmly as she replied : “ 01, you are such a 
comfort. I wish I had you near me always to 
show me the way.” 

There was a question in 01’ s eyes for one 
moment, then with a faint sigh he said : “ Doc can 
do more fur yu, gurl, than me or anybody could. 
He’s jus’ the right one fur yu.” 

The color came to her face, and she pulled her 
hand away. “ No; he says he can do nothing for 
me,” she replied. ''Good-by, 01. Come up in 
the morning before we start.” 

"I’ll be there if I’m alive,” he said, pushing off. 


The Professor’s Daughter 209 

At the distance of a few yards, after she had 
walked away, he called out : “ Don’t forget what I 
said ’bout Doc, will yu, gurl?” She shook her 
head negatively, and continued up the road. 

The following morning Mr. Everett drove down 
for the Fremonts and took therp home with him. 
Notwithstanding the close friendship between 
Louise and her father, it had never been her habit 
to tell him of that inner life which belongs only to 
the human being and a divine judge. For a year 
past the Professor had shown symptoms of failing 
strength. He was never ill, but never entirely 
well and vigorous, consequently the heavy sorrows 
that had come to her she bore apart from his sym- 
pathy. Had he been an observing man he would 
have noticed the change in her manner during 
those first few weeks in Shannock. Mr. Everett 
did observe, and daily grew more anxious about 
her. He noticed a growing apathy, an air of dis- 
couragement in her movements and conversation. 

When her father suggested a renewal of their 
mythological researches, she put him off evasively, 
and she spent a great deal of time alone in her 
room. Finally Mr. Everett, who had conjectured 
every possible cause for this change in Louise, 
made up his mind that she must be ill and his 
nephew must be sent for, or on afterthought that 
possibly she was feeling left out in the cold owing 
to the intimate and congenial companionship exist- 
ing between herself and her father. He decided 
to seek from her an explanation. 

One evening soon after dinner, when the three 


210 


The Professor’s Daughter 

of them were settled around a crackling log-fire, 
Mr. Everett reading aloud a political editorial from 
a New York paper, Louise arose abruptly and 
started upstairs, as she had done several times 
before at that hour, without returning to them all 
evening. Mr. Everett handed the paper to the 
Professor, saying: “Here, Tom, finish that for 
yourself. I’ll be back in a few moments.” 

He followed Louise into the hall, where, catch- 
ing up with her, he laid a hand on her shoulder, 
saying : “ See here, Louise, why do you leave the 
two old men alone so much ? Are you not feeling 
well.^ Don’t you think I had better send for 
Everett to come down and find out what is the 
matter.? He’d come at once if we’d telegraph 
him.” 

“No, no,” she replied entreatingly; “for my 
sake, do not send for Doctor Layton. He can do 
nothing for me — he has told me so. I thought I 
was hiding my sorrow by going off to myself when 
I could not keep up. We must not tell father just 
yet, even if I do tell you. I thought perhaps you 
knew — from your nephew.” 

“What sorrow, my little girl.? Come into the 
library with Uncle Billy and tell him all about it.” 

To Louise it was a relief to have his sympathy 
when she told him about her eyes. To Mr. Ever- 
ett this intelligence came with a shock, because 
Doctor Layton had not intimated that Louise’s 
trouble amounted to more than a sympathetic dis- 
turbance caused by bodily weakness ; but from that 
time on he not only proved himself a consolation 


The Professor’s Daughter 2 1 1 

to her, but also insisted upon their seeing more of 
the Shannock people, and having little diverting 
dinners among the extensive Everett connection 
and his many friends. These unpretentious social 
gatherings did them all good in a way. If human 
beings do us no other good turn in social relations, 
they force us out of ourselves and divert our minds 
away from the rut called Self, than which none is 
more dangerous as a permanent location. But still 
Louise found it difficult to smile ; and as Christ- 
mas drew near, both she and Mr. Everett became 
more and more anxious about the Professor, who 
never complained, but lost strength every day. 

The Shannock physician — another William 
Everett — could find no local disease. He insisted 
that the trouble was anaemia and general decadence 
of vitality, and the Professor insisted that he was 
perfectly well, only so very tired all the time. 
When Louise fully realized his condition, a few 
weeks before Christmas, she became greatly 
alarmed, and forgot herself in mothering him. 

“ Uncle Billy, ” she said one day, “ what would 
I do without you.? I feel sometimes as though 
we ought to go away — we are both so useless and 
low-spirited ; but I have not the courage to go back 
to a hotel with father as he is now. I have not a 
near relative in the world besides father, and not 
a distant one I care for. Can you stand us until 
he gets better .? ” 

“Now, Louise, what kind of talk is that.? ” he 
replied. “ When have I been so happy in years 
past as I am now with Tom and our girl staying 


212 


The Professor’s Daughter 


with me? If he isn’t better by the time Everett 
comes for Christmas day, we will bundle him off 
to the South if that seems advisable. New Eng- 
land winters never did agree with him.” 

“ Would you go with us, Uncle Billy ? It would 
be such a relief to have you along. I’ve grown a 
coward since I have known my own doom. I am 
always expecting the worst.” 

“Of course I’ll go with you. We’ll go to 
Southern California, or to the ends of the earth, if 
Everett thinks Tom is able to travel. Now don’t 
you worry, dear child; everything will come all 
right. I don’t see why Everett hasn’t been down 
here these two months. He used to come much 
oftener; but as a man gains celebrity he loses 
enjoyment. That boy works himself to death, and 
little thanks he’ll ever get for it. I tell him if 
he’d take life a little easier, the way I do, he’d 
have just as many people reading his epitaph.” 

Louise made no reply. She sat looking down 
at a hat-pin she was sticking in and drawing out 
of her hat repeatedly. They were starting out for 
a drive with her father, and while they talked they 
waited for him to come downstairs. 

01 stopped in to see them whenever he went to 
Shannock, but that was not often in winter when 
he was working on his small farm. In all proba- 
bility, the first time he ever felt what is known as 
social distinction was when he first visited them 
and saw Louise in a trailing house gown of silk. 
Her clothes and demeanor at the beach had been 
so simple that the change in her appearance 


The Professor’s Daughter 213 

brought about a self-consciousness in his manner 
unusual with him under any circumstances, even 
though he himself was dressed in his best “ store 
clothes ” and wore a “ biled shirt ” — which costume 
took away his picturesqueness without lending him 
the conventional air of city life which belonge^d to 
the clothes, or at least with their metropolitan 
prototype. 

Louise regretted the change of costume and the 
slight constraint of Ohs manner, but she did her 
best to make him feel at home; and after a few 
minutes the natural gentleman in him came to his 
rescue, and he talked as was his wont about the 
unusual height of the flood tides in the fall of the 
year, and the big catches of sea-bass and mullet 
they had had. He told them how much of the 
dunes had been blown away by a recent gale which 
had thrown a small fishing-smack up on the beach 
at the pier, and how Melissa sent best regards, 
saying she was as well as usual and hoped they 
were the same. He always asked when Doctor 
Layton would be down, and looked very serious 
when they invariably told him not until Christmas. 

Two weeks before Christmas day Mr. Everett 
handed Louise a Tetter, saying as he did so : “I 
hope Everett means by this that he is coming be- 
fore the appointed time.” He waited for her to 
open the letter addressed in his nephew’s writing, 
but she said, “Just one moment. Uncle Billy — I 
think I hear father calling,” and left the room with 
the letter doubled up in one hand. 

“Hum!” thought Mr. Everett; “what’s up 


214 The Professor’s Daughtei 


there? She didn’t hear Tom call — he’s gone over 
to Brandon Everett’s, and she knows it Wouldn’t 
open the letter before me ! Gad ! if I don’t smell 
a rat! Here I’ve been taking his professional 
interest for granted, and I’ll bet forty horses it’s 
the other kind. He always telegraphs me. Let 
me see — it’s ten years, at least, since he found 
time to write me a letter. Wouldn’t that be just 
the thing? I’ll watch them when he comes 
down I ” 

He slapped his leg in his amusement over his 
obtuseness, and waited for Louise to return; but 
she did not come back, nor did she appear again 
until noon, when at lunch she said : “ Oh, father 
and Uncle Billy, I must tell you that I had a letter 
from Doctor Layton this morning, and he says he 
can’t get here until Christmas, after all.” 

“ Did you ask him to come before, Louie dear ? ” 
asked her father innocently. 

No; oh, no 1 ” she replied, that faint color too 
delicate to be called a blush toning up her cheeks. 
“ I did not ask him, but ” — she hesitated almost 
imperceptibly — “ but he thought we might expect 
him before, and he thought he would let us know 
definitely.” 

'‘Very thoughtful of Everett, I am sure,” 
remarked his uncle, his eyes twinkling. " I think 
my nephew improves in thoughtfulness as he 
grows older.” 

Louise looked up quickly, and caught his eyes. 
Her color deepened, and she glanced down at her 
plate. The Professor intercepted that exchange 


The Professor's Daughter 


215 


of glances, and when he saw Mr. Everett’s expres- 
sion, he, too, smiled in his eyes, and the chums 
signalled their delight in the interesting secret 
whose workings they were observing. 

Men and women meet on a level of curiosity 
when in advanced years they surprise an attack of 
Cupid encountered by those of tender age in their 
immediate vicinity. When the last man stands 
alone upon the frozen earth, he will question the 
probability of marriage in a future state, declaring 
unto himself that any place would be heaven with 
an open fire and a woman beside him, no matter 
by what name it might be labelled. Doctor Lay- 
ton’s letter read in this way: 


'‘New York, 

"East Twenty- First Street. 

" My Louise : — I shall be down for Christmas 
Day, but there may be no opportunity for me to talk 
to you on the subject which has grown to be the 
one and only subject to me. Are we any nearer to 
each other than we were two months ago ? Am I 
to be given the happiness of going into the twilight 
by your side, trying to make the light of my love 
compensate for the loss of the beautiful world 
One thing which I must impress upon you — I do 
not ask the kind of charity for my sins bestowed 
by worldly women upon degraded men whom they 
marry for homes or position. No ; winking at sin 
or overlooking it for mercantile reasons is not 
the same thing as forgiving it for the sake of the 
love you bear the transgressor. I do not ask you 
to forgive me because I am a man, but because I 
am a human being — as the Nazarene forgave the 
Magdalene ; and in forgiving me learn to pity the 


21 6 The Professor’s Daughtei 


Magdalenes whose lives are embittered and fre- 
quently pushed lower down by the contempt and 
metaphorical kicks of their more fortunate sisters. 

“ When a man loves a woman as I love you, he 
feels that for the first time in his life he recognizes 
his own soul spirit, or whatever you choose to call 
the part of him that worships — that reaches out 
for God and the things far off beyond even his 
imagination. I am a practical, every-day man, not 
accustomed to descant upon things spiritual nor to 
analyze abstractions. 

“ Life is objective to me. I love you — the 
creature, Louise Fremont — ^with the best love I 
have to give; but in order that I may derive 
betterment from you I must have you near me. I 
am no poet to love you more in the imagination 
than in the reality. I want you — you, Louise. I 
need you, dear, every minute that I live. Do you 
suppose that if you were my wife I could have the 
slightest desire for the grosser pleasures ? Believe 
me, I am not that kind of a man. Have you ever 
thought about the life I lead day in and day out ? 
I get up in the morning and go to my club, or a 
restaurant near by if I am late for my breakfast, 
always taken alone or with some stray man who 
has no interest in me. From ten until two I see 
my patients, frequently performing delicate opera- 
tions, especially trying to my nerves because I am 
an excitable and a sympathetic man. Imagine the 
wear and tear upon a man’s sympathies when he is 
frequently compelled to give an opinion much 
worse and more heartrending than the one I gave 
you. You have hope : many a poor soul sees only 
irrevocable blackness, without a penny in the world 
to support him through the trial. 

“ The remainder of my day is spent in consulta- 
tion, to which I am called often, and in attendance 


The Professor’s Daughter 


217 


upon my duties at a hospital, where I give my 
services. Nearly all physicians do that kind of 
charity work in some way or another. I snatch a 
lunch whenever I can get it, although sometimes I 
do forget altogether to take food in the middle of 
the day when I am very busy. When dinner-time 
comes I have that meal at the club, as I have had 
breakfast, alone or with some men; afterward I 
have an evening to get through. I read and study 
when I am not too tired. I go to the theatre until 
I hate the very sight of one. Formerly I went 
about socially a good deal, but I care less and less 
for that every year, and rarely accept an invitation 
nowadays — often I am too tired to be superficially 
agreeable, but I don’t believe you would find me a 
bear in my own home. If I remain with the men 
at the club after dinner we soon get enough of one 
another unless we go off somewhere for amusement. 
You must pardon so much talk about myself — I 
never did it before in my life ; but I must make 
you see how much I need you. The trite old say- 
ing that ‘ Man was not made to live alone ’ covers 
the situation entirely. But I could not marry just 
for the sake of companionship — I could get that 
by calling upon any one of several dozen women I 
know. No ; a man wants the one woman — the only 
woman for him. 

“ Come, dearest ; can you let me go on alone ? 
I rode out Riverside Drive the other day, and 
picked out the house I would buy for us — one over- 
looking the driveway and the sunsets across the Pali- 
sades. You could look at ‘the glory’ from your 
own windows while waiting for me to come home 
at night — which I would do with such eagerness. 
Think of going home to you for dinner every 
night ! Oh, Louise ! I cannot live without you, 
now that I have found you ! And we would build 


21 8 The Professor’s Daughter 


a little house down at Weecapaug for the summer 
and autumn season, near Melissa and 01 and Uncle 
Billy, and your father would be happy in our home. 

“ I have given you two months in which to think 
it all over, and if you really love me you will 
come, for ^ Love covers a multitude of sins.’ I 
think I will know your answer without a word 
when I see you again. I can hardly wait the one 
week longer, even though I have some dread of 
the meeting. 

“ My Louise, until then, anyway. Good-by for 
a few days, and then forever — which ? Alone with 
my devil ? or together with my angel } 

“In any case I am always your friend, 

“Everett Layton. 


December seventeenth.” 


FOURTEENTH CHAPTER 


When Doctor Layton reached his uncle’s house, 
Christmas morning, there was no one stirring but 
Mrs. Dawson, the housekeeper, who had known 
him from boyhood, and enjoyed petting him still, 
as though he had not yet outgrown his round- 
abouts and short trousers. Being a distant con- 
nection, she was privileged to call him Everett, 
which she did as often as possible, sounding the 
family name, of which she was unduly proud, as if 
its distinction required brackets in the course of 
conversation for fear its full importance might not 
be conveyed. It is worth while to lend a family 
name distinction, if only for the sake of poor rela- 
tions, whose hardships are lightened by the mere 
pleasure of boasting their relationship. 

“ Merry Christmas, Cousin Beulah ! ” Layton 
called out, as he opened the front door that morn- 
ing and saw her descend the broad Colonial stair- 
way at the moment of his entrance. 

“ Everett, is that you ^ Merry Christmas many 
times to you, my boy. We are glad, Everett, to 
know you have not failed us on this delightful 
occasion, when hearts are standing open to wel- 
come those they love.” 

“What a beautiful speech. Cousin. I believe 
you had it all cut and dried with the rose-leaves 


220 The Professor’s Daughter 

and lavender. I have a little remembrance in this 
bag for you. Shall we open it now, or wait until 
breakfast-time ” 

“What a good boy you are, Everett! You 
never forget the elderly ladies even in the presence 
of young ones. Thank you gratefully. Put your 
remembrance beside my plate at breakfast, along 
with your uncle’s gift, so that I may enjoy the 
remembrances together. All of the Everetts will 
be here for dinner. We have been making prepa- 
rations for a week past. ” 

“Bother the Everetts! Why didn’t we have 
dinner by ourselves } Professor Fremont and his 
daughter are still here, aren’t they.^ ” — looking up 
in some alarm. 

“Yes, indeed, Everett, they are still here; but 
I consider them a depressing influence upon your 
uncle. The Professor’s condition of health appears 
to be alarming, and his daughter is a very serious 
girl, who does not know how to make sunshine for 
old people, as you would in similar circumstances,” 
she replied in the tone peculiar to those born to 
regulation as a mission. 

“ She has enough to make her serious. Don’t 
judge harshly on Christmas Day, Cousin. Re- 
member, you promised me a year ago to-day that 
you would not pass criticism on a human being 
for one whole year. I wonder if you’ve kept your 
promise.? ” 

“ Harsh criticism was the promise, Everett. 
It would be impossible not to recognize the faults 
of those about us.” He laughed indulgently, and 


The Professor’s Daughter 221 

went upstairs to the room he knew was always 
ready for him. 

When the members of the household assembled 
in the dining-room, they found him 'standing before 
the open fire, humming an old-fashioned Christmas 
carol his mother had taught him. Louise had not 
known at what hour he would arrive, hence the 
almost imperceptible step backward she took, as 
if she would willingly run from his presence and 
influence when she recognized him standing there. 
He saw the movement, and his heart seemed to 
whirl downward. The atmosphere of good cheer 
he invariably bore with him enlivened the break- 
fast, which otherwise would have been too sorrow- 
ladened for the day belonging to warm, merry, and 
kind hearts. 

The Everett connection began to drop in soon 
after breakfast, with greetings and remembrances 
for Uncle Billy, and in consequence Layton had 
no opportunity to speak with Louise alone until 
late in the afternoon ; at least, there was no oppor- 
tunity that she would accept as such, for she per- 
sistently avoided him, seeking the society of the 
guests rather than his. Mr. Everett, in memory 
of family traditions and custom, illuminated his 
house with candles instead of gas on Christmas 
night. Two candles were burned in each window 
for the benefit of the wayfarer. 

As the dusk came on, Louise started out toward 
the dining-room, where she intended to assist Mrs. 
Dawson in making ready the dozens of candles 
required to light up the stately drawing-room and 


222 The Professor’s Daughter 


hall. Layton followed her into the hall, where he 
said as he came up with her : “ Did you receive my 
letter.^ ” 

“Yes, Doctor Layton,” she replied, walk- 
ing on. 

“ Stop ! ” he commanded. “ I am not a man to 
be trifled with. That letter requires an answer. 
I presume you think you have given it by avoiding 
me all day. That does not satisfy me. Come 
into Uncle Billy’s study. I am going to town as 
soon as the illumination is over, and the family 
dispersed, and this is the last time I shall ever 
annoy you with my importunities if my letter did 
not touch you; but I intend to have a verbal 
answer now.” 

“ Don’t be hard with me. Doctor Layton. I am 
trying to do what is best for both of us,” she 
replied, preceding him into the room he indicated 
by holding back some hangings. 

“Hard!” he laughed bitterly. “I hard with 
you! That is almost a joke, isn’t it.^^ What is 
your answer to my letter.? ” They stood confront- 
ing each other beside a library table, on which 
Louise rested her hands as though for support. 

“You say you know what my answer is — why 
do you ask.? It is the same as I have given 
before.” 

“Then I am to understand that this is to be 
final — that you decline to be my wife, even when 
you admit that you care for me.? ” 

“ Why will you persist .? You understand with- 
out my going all over it again.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 223 

“ Time has not softened you then, Louise ? If 
that is so, you do not love me — no woman who 
loved a man could condemn him as you do me 
unless he were a felon and a murderer. Certainly 
there would be no more certain way of making a 
bad man of me than by the course you are taking. 
If you loved me, your love would teach you this. 
Very well, I will go. You have humbled me to 
your satisfaction. I thought that the very atmos- 
phere of Christmas would secure me my desire — 
that the birthday of Him who forgave to the 
utmost limit of crime would move you in my 
behalf as no other day would. Oh, Louise! 
Louise! How can you be so hard — so unfor- 
giving.? ” 

He threw himself into a chair beside the table 
and buried his face in his folded arms. The 
woman stood with her hands clasping each other 
nervously in front of her. The muscles of her 
entire body were rigid in sympathy with the 
struggle of her mind against the temptation of her 
affection. Suddenly she relaxed, and like one 
seized with an inspiration, she walked over to his 
side and laid one hand on his shoulder. The Puri- 
tan broke the bonds of inheritance, surrendering to 
the spirit of compromise. 

“ Everett, I do love you, but I cannot be your 
wife now. If I am worth loving, I am worth wait- 
ing for and living for. This Christ-day is also a 
day significant of self-sacrifice. If for one year 
you can live alone the life I would require of my 
husband, then I could trust you with my future ; 


224 The Professor’s Daughter 


but if a man is too weak to fight for the right, he 
is too weak for me to respect.” 

She hesitated; but he made no reply, and she 
continued, leaning over his bowed head: “The 
world does not count the vices of men as sins, but 
I do. Men and women are born equal in sin or 
righteousness, and I hold them equally responsible 
for their lives. If a man is lonely and desperate, 
he can turn to any degraded amusement with 
impunity, as a diversion of his mind; but let a 
woman try the same thing under the same circum- 
stances, and what becomes of her.^ ” 

“ I know all of these things, Louise,” he replied, 
without looking up, “ and what you say would be 
perfectly reasonable if the world weren’t what it 
is ; but men and women’s lives are not the same — 
they never have been ; they never will be. If all 
women took the stand you do, men would grow 
nearer your ideal of what they ought to be ; but 
they don’t take that stand any more than I love 
you according to some ideal or theory. I simply 

love you — that is all ” 

“ Stop, Doctor Layton ; I do not believe that. 
You ceased to care for Mrs. Layton because she 
fell below your standard. ” 

“Yes; I suppose I did,” he replied. 

“ Now listen to me for the last time. If the 
man I love is not my ideal when I find him, he 
must grow toward it if he wishes to claim me. If 
you continue to drink as much strong alcoholic 
stuff as thousands of American men do, with your 
nervous temperament and hard work you will be a 


The Professor’s Daughter 225 

wreck of yourself in another ten years. I have 
heard that physicians frequently go that way — they 
take it to keep up their nerve. You know what I 
demand of you in all ways without my explaining. 
Besides — oh, Everett! — I could not be a burden 
to you ! I forget, when I say these things and 
give you some hope, that I will be unfitted to be 
any man’s wife. Don’t ask me any more — I am 
in such distress I My father’s health is failing 
day by day. Uncle Billy and I are going to take 
him South if you think best. We have been 
waiting for the people to go to consult you about 
him. I’m growing to be so weak and cowardly at 
the thought of things. Try to forget me and let 
me go. ” 

She sank down into a chair exhausted. Her 
physical weakness appealed to him at once. He 
walked over to her side, where, taking one of her 
hands in his strong clasp, he said firmly : 

“ I will try to be the man you could love. It 
would be much easier with you than alone, but, as 
you say, love can conquer anything — and I hope it 
will conquer you yet. Do not be alarmed about 
your father. Take him South, and the change 
will do you all good. I will go back to my lonely 
life and wait for you. I cannot promise to do all 
that you ask of me any more than I could swear 
honestly to love you for a thousand years. I be- 
lieve I would love you forever, and I believe I can 
live up to your requirements, but no human being 
is sufficiently infallible to swear to the future. 
You are not only fitted to be my wife, but even 

15 


226 The Professor’s Daughter 


if you could never see again — which you will — 
no other woman could be so well fitted, be- 
cause I love you, and love is the greatest thing. 
Come, I have been selfish, and am still, in keep- 
ing you here. Come, we will go back to the 
rest.” 

He raised her from the chair, slowly, by both 
hands. As they moved toward the door, he 
stopped and said : “ Louise, I have a demand to 
make, too. A man has some pride, you know. I 
cannot ask you this question again, but at any 
time you will come to me, or send me word, that I 
am wanted, I will go to you; but never so long as 
we live will I offer you again the highest gift in 
man or woman’s possession, risking another re- 
fusal. Will you promise to let me know if you 
are willing to take me as your husband, if, after a 
year, I feel that I have done my part and write you 
the words, ‘ I am ready ’ ” 

“ Yes, I promise, Everett, unless I have, through 
blindness, become useless to every one,” she an- 
swered. 

That is not to be taken into consideration at 
all. I have told you how happy I should be in 
helping you carry the burden of those dark days, 
and you must take me at my word. Louise, will 
you kiss me good-by.? Give me something by 
which to remember this Christmas Day happily — 
there has been little enough, in all conscience.” 

“ No,” she replied, turning away from him. “ I 
cannot do that again until we are sure of some- 
thing. But I will give you a remembrance of me. 


The Professor’s Daughter 227 

Unfasten this old chain I wear wrapped around my 
arm so many times. It was my mother’s. I only 
wear it on Christmas Day — the day she died. I 
will put it in your vest pocket, right over your 
heart — perhaps it will chain your impulses. Some 
people, I suppose, have to cling to something 
tangible — I cling to abstract right.” 

You are a stronger woman than I am a man, 
dearest,” he murmured, holding his hands behind 
him as she dropped the chain into his vest pocket, 
then moved away from him with added color in her 
face. 

''No, Everett; it is only that I have thought 
about things more than you have. You are im- 
pulsive, and act by impulse. I have been trained 
from childhood to think twice. Good-by, Everett ; 
good-by. This is harder for me than you know. 
Go on out with your people, and let me stay here 
a few moments by myself. When I see my way 
to do it, I will come back to you and be your wife, 
if you still want me.” 

" I can’t leave you here alone. Come, Louise,” 
— holding out his arms toward her. “ Come with 
me now. How can I wait so long.? Who knows 
what might happen in a year. Death might rob 
us of any later life together. One or the other of 
us might die.” 

"Let me be the one, then. You are of more 
use in the world than I. Go, Everett ; go at once. 
I cannot bear this any longer. I am unutterably 
tired.” 

His arms dropped vacantly by his sides as he 


228 The Professor’s Daughter 


turned and left her with a barely audible “ good- 
by/’ 

She walked slowly across the room toward a 
couch. Her steps became unsteady, she clinched 
her hands and teeth. “What is happening to 
me.? ” she said aloud. “ I must hold on or I will 
fall down. My brain feels like wheels all turning 
different ways. I am worn out ! ” 

She moved waveringly near the couch, falling 
upon it almost unconscious. Every being has his 
or her own limit of endurance. 

The limit of Louise’s endurance had been 
reached ; at least, it had unless nature would come 
to the rescue with nerve-reinforcements. Only a 
few moments did she lie there in a collapsed condi- 
tion. Presently she opened her eyes and struggled 
to her feet, but was compelled to sit down and 
wait for sufficient strength to help her back into 
the drawing-room. She heard Mr. Everett’s voice 
calling along the hall : “ Louie ! Louie ! Where 
are you .? Come here, my dear ! ” 

“Here I am. Uncle Billy,’’ she replied, in an 
uncertain voice. “I’m here, in your study.” 

He followed the voice and found her sitting on 
the couch, white and nervous, her teeth chattering 
slightly. “ What is it, my child .? Has anything 
happened ? Have you a chill ? ” 

“ I did not feel well, and came in here to rest a 
moment. I’m about right again now. Let us go 
back to the company.” 

“They have all gone, dear child. I’m sorry to 
see you so. Don’t make an effort to come, but we 


The Professor’s Daughter 229 

want you to help decide about going South with 
your father. Everett says we ought to go.” 

''Yes, we will go as soon as possible,” she 
replied more collectedly, rising from the couch 
stiffly. “ I am rested now; let us go to them.” 

“Take my arm, Louie, child. You look all 
tuckered out, as 01 Peckham says. Do you really 
feel strong enough to move ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! I’m all right. Please don’t mention 
this to the others. I have worried about things so 
much of late that I am growing a very baby. I 
hate myself for it ! ” 

When they joined Doctor Layton and the Pro- 
fessor, the latter sat looking as fatigued after the 
day’s festivities as did his daughter. 

“Well, Everett,” said his uncle, as they entered 
the room. “ It is decided. Louise says we will 
go immediately, and that means next week. Brace 
up, Tom, and have some style about you, as we 
used to say to Timmy Stratton after the red-headed 
Baker girl went back on him. You will be an- 
other man after a few weeks at Los Angeles.” 

“ I hope so, Billy, and it will not be your fault 
if I am not,” replied the Professor, looking at his 
friend with that glance of trust and mutual under- 
standing they so frequently exchanged. 

“ Never say die until you hear the last trump, is 
my motto when my big toe gets on a gouty ram- 
page,” Mr. Everett returned, settling Louise in 
an easy-chair with pillows at her back. No woman 
ever had to turn a hand in her own service when 
Mr. Everett was about. He seemed to feel that 


230 The Professor’s Daughter 

his thwarted love and duty for one woman must be 
divided up among the many; however, he had 
always been diffusive in his attentions to woman- 
kind. 

“ I am afraid I have heard the last trump blow 
my call, my friend,” said Professor Fremont sadly. 

“ Nonsense ! That was a tin horn blown by our 
neighbor’s boy. Don’t get any such Tom-non- 
sense into your head. That used to be a joke of 
ours, children. Tell him how much good the trip 
will do him, Everett.” 

They united in the attempt to cheer up the 
invalid, but this was a difficult task; he had 
reached a stage of deep depression. However, 
Doctor Layton described the attractions of Los 
Angeles, and Louise forced herself into supporting 
him in the attempt to arouse her father, until, 
when the Professor expressed a desire to retire 
for the night, he seemed to have gained some con- 
fidence. Louise left the room with him after 
shaking hands with Layton in farewell. 

As she turned from her lover she made an 
almost imperceptible motion with one hand, indi- 
cating the chain he carried. He simply bowed his 
head, and stood in that attitude until she had left 
the room, and longer, until Mr. Everett laid a hand 
on his arm. “Tell me all about it, Everett. Is 
Louise going to be my niece ” 

“ I don’t know, uncle — that depends upon me. 

I think love will help me to become the man she 
would marry, but no man knows his strength until 
he tries it. I cannot talk about it. Uncle Billy-^ 


The Professor’s Daughter 231 

but that woman has grown to be my religion. 
What different creatures men would be if women 
were all high-minded! Good-by, Uncle Billy; 
Happy New Year to you! Take care of her for 
me until she will let me do it myself. She is the 
best woman I have ever known.” 

“ Yes, she is a good girl, and I believe she loves 
you, Everett. I shall be very happy when she 
comes into the family. She is a girl who would 
not attract everybody ; but those who love her, love 
her without stint. Take care of yourself, Everett, 
while we are away. No cocktails after breakfast, 
and whiskey straight before an operation. Re- 
member, boy, you can’t stand up under it.” 

“I promise to remember, uncle. Good-by.” 

They stood shaking right hands, but with the 
back of his left Layton unconsciously touched his 
vest pocket. 


FIFTEENTH CHAPTER 


To his daughter the most convincing evidence 
of Professor Fremont’s physical decline was his 
entire loss of interest in the mythological pursuits 
he had been carrying on enthusiastically for so 
many years. He felt the uselessness of effort; 
then, too, ever since Mr. Everett’s reappearance 
in his life the affectional relations had assumed 
greater importance with him than the occupations 
which hitherto had filled all of his existence not 
devoted to his daughter. 

During that long trip to California, as they ap- 
proached the Middle Western States and neared 
the location of his brief marital happiness, his 
mind became preoccupied with the remembrance 
of those days, and with recurring dreams and 
visions of the young wife whose presence in his 
life had been the poetry of his existence, even 
in retrospect. Every subject his companions 
broached suggested to his mind some reminiscence 
of Mary, her thoughts and feelings. 

Both Louise and Mr. Everett found that this 
growing tendency must be humored, for otherwise 
he became nervous and inclined to irritability. 
He would relapse into absorbing meditations from 
which he could only be aroused by the call Louise 
used habitually in recalling him from deep thought 


The Professor's Daughter 233 

or abstraction — “Tom! Professor! Mary calls.” 
Then the vacant look would leave his eyes, and the 
answer would come, “I am ready,” in the very 
words Everett Layton had used in sealing his 
compact with Louise. 

Sometimes she felt as though something must 
snap, scream, or give way within her, the strain of 
her mingled sorrows having become almost unen- 
durable. Even Mr. Everett was losing hope and 
his abundance of animal spirits when they reached 
Eos Angeles. During the first few weeks of their 
stay there the Professor rallied slightly, his inter- 
est in events reawakened in a measure, but no 
perceptible change was noticeable in his physical 
condition, either for better or for worse. An 
almost stupefying languor possessed him, but he 
still retained sufficient strength to drive short dis- 
tances and to move about. Physicians were con- 
sulted in Los Angeles, but they looked dubious 
and said little. At the hotel, Louise, to her 
pleasure, met a woman whom she had last known 
in Switzerland, a widow of about thirty-five years, 
with a beautiful face and a spirit cleansed by the 
fires of a sad romance. She had married, ten 
years previous, on his death-bed, the man she 
loved, and soon afterward had lost her only rela-. 
tives, a mother and sister. For several years she 
wandered about the continent in search of a spar 
to which she might cling in the ocean of life; but 
failing in this endeavor, she returned to her native 
land, with the purpose of helping those whose lives 
were even more barren than her own. Having 


2 34 The Professor’s Daughter 

large means, her philanthropy had at first been ill 
advised ; but she had one particular idea she was 
working out, and experience taught her the way 
to a practical application of her enthusiasm. 

Philanthropy is like political economy, in that 
its theory and practice rarely keep step. For 
several years she had been doing the work that 
each day indicated, and finding '‘the peace that 
passeth all understanding ” thereby. 

When Louise met her, in the hotel at Los 
Angeles, she was on her way to a ranch she owned, 
in that golden world of the South, for a change of 
climate from the piercing lake winds of Chicago, 
that had disagreeably affected her naturally weak 
lungs. Mrs. Strangemore and Louise had always 
been sympathetic to each other. She was one of 
the few people who, in moving about the world, 
Louise had parted from with sincere regret, and 
she was proportionately glad to meet Mrs. Strange- 
more again at this time, when she needed the 
friendship of one of her own sex. Mrs. Strange- 
more was equally glad of the coincidental re-en- 
counter, showing that she was by remaining over 
a few days for a visit with Louise. 

When she saw Professor Fremont’s condition 
she insisted upon their all accompanying her to 
the ranch, where, as she said, “The air is so 
heavenly one need not die to know something of 
the other world.” She assured them that going 
with her would be an act of social charity, because 
otherwise she would spend the time alone miles 
from a town, with only servants about her. They 


The Professor’s Daughter 


235 


finally decided to go, because Professor Fremont 
seemed pleased with the thought, having always 
felt a particular desire to experience the expansive, 
free existence peculiar to ranch life. The journey 
was taken by easy stages ; but, notwithstanding, 
the Professor was for several days after their 
arrival at El Graciano confined to his bed from 
excessive weakness. 

Mrs. Strangemore proved the friend who knows 
how to bear another’s burden not by sharing it, 
but by lending strength and support to the actual 
sufferer. Louise still clung to the hope of her 
father’s recovery, and Mrs. Strangemore, with Mr. 
Everett’s acquiescence, made no attempt to dis- 
abuse her mind. The Professor never referred to 
his condition. 

One day in March he sat looking off at 
the enchanting distance, composed of mountain 
ranges completing a commanding background 
to the intervening woodlands and grazing- 
grounds, while Louise read to him a letter just 
received from an old friend who lived in the 
home of his early professional life where his wife 
lay buried. 

As Louise put back the letter into the envelope, 
he said absently : “You must lay me there beside 
your mother, Louie, dear. Do you feel that I will 
find her waiting for me in another land.? We 
have no premises from which to reason on that 
subject; we can only experience intuitive convic- 
tions, and I believe her soul will seek me out, as 
it did here. Because two beings marry in this life. 


236 The Professor’s Daughter 


their souls need not of necessity mate — that has 
been clearly demonstrated ; but when the composite 
parts of one great loving soul meet on this earth, 
there can be no doubt — and just so must it be 
through eternity. Louie, dear, do you know that 
I am going to join your mother.? ” 

He turned his eyes from the landscape upon 
Louise as she sat trying to swallow dry sobs. 

“No, no, father — not yet!” was all she could 
reply, as she knelt down beside his chair and laid 
her head against his shoulder. 

“Yes, dear child; before a great while I must 
go. My span of years has reached its termination, 
and I should be quite ready to go were it not for 
leaving you. If you could only give me the one 
thought that would comfort me, my going would 
be easier, daughter.” 

He passed his hand over her hair with the 
familiar caress. 

“What would comfort you, father.?” Louise 
asked hoarsely. 

“ The assurance that your life will not be passed 
alone — that you are to be taken care of by Uncle 
Billy and Everett as one of their family. I have 
never intruded upon your confidence, Louie, dear 
— that would seem to me indelicate — but now be- 
fore I go I would like to know if it is that you do 
return Doctor Layton’s evident regard, or that you 
do not.” 

“Yes, father. I will tell you, and would have 
long ago, but hesitated to bother you with my own 
small troubles,” she replied, covertly using on her 


The Professor’s Daughter 237 

eyes the handkerchief he had dropped on the floor 
while she was kneeling. 

“ But that is not a small affair, Louie. It seems 
to me the largest affair in life, after all, because 
of its direct influence upon both the worldly and 
spiritual life of the individual. Why, my child, 
had your mother refused me I should have been a 
very different man, in all likelihood. When she 
married me she was so much my superior in all 
spiritual and moral relations that in order to ap- 
proach her with my love I had to look up. ” 

“Do you mean that literally, father.^” Louise 
whispered. “That you were not mother’s equal 
morally } ” 

“ I fear I do, dear child. What man is the 
equal of a perfect woman ? No doubt there are 
some such men, but I have known very few in my 
life. As I was saying, marriage is a safeguard to 
men as well as an inspiration, and I know no man 
with whom I would trust your future more confi- 
dently than with Doctor Layton. When a man is 
unselfish, the woman he loves can make of him 
what she pleases; a selfish man is a hopeless 
creature under any circumstances.” 

“ I am glad you think so well of him, father,” 
she said softly, into his ear. 

“ But tell me how you think of him, Louie. ” 

“ I suppose I love him, father, more than most 
women know how to love, because he is the only 
man I ever cared for — besides you and Uncle Billy; 
but I have told him that I cannot marry him 
unless he conforms to my standard of living. I 


238 The Professor's Daughter 

have no right to order the lives of the entire com- 
munity, nor to set up an ideal for them, as you 
have told me ; but I have every right to influence 
the being who is to go through life with me, and 
to insist upon certain things as I would do with 
myself. Don’t you think I have.? ” 

“Yes, Louie, you have. All women ought to 
do that. But such influence can most successfully 
be brought to bear after marriage in the more inti- 
mate relation of daily communion.” 

“ I would not trust it, father. If a man cannot 
live for a woman while the halo of romantic pas- 
sion fills his life, how could he afterward, when 
the commonplace relations of daily life together 
have worn away some of that first flush.” 

“That feeling ought not to wear away, my 
child. ” 

“ No, it certainly ought not, in view of marital 
happiness, but the fact remains that it does. If 
Doctor Layton can live for me a year alone, I will 
trust my future to him. I should say our future, 
because what I ask of him is of more importance 
to him than to me, if he only realized it.” 

“ Then I am to understand that he is on proba- 
tion.? ” asked her father, a faint smile showing in 
his tired eyes. 

“Yes; I suppose it might be called that,” she 
replied, with no keen relish of that designation. 

“Then I have no fear for your future, Louie. 
You will be Doctor Layton’s wife some day, if 
not directly. I shall leave you in strong, pro- 
tecting hands. Any man would sign a temper- 


The Professor’s Daughter 239 

ance pledge, or any other pledge, for the woman 
he loves.” 

Louise raised her head and looked directly at 
him as she replied : “You don’t mean that, father. 
I would trust Doctor Layton’s word in any case.” 

“To be sure you would, child; that is one of 
the evidences of the sincerity of your affection; 
and his word is to be trusted. He is a man of im- 
pulse and hasty action (it didn’t take him long to 
love you, did it.?), but he is an honorable man, 
fashioned after a noble example — Billy Everett. 
I am so glad of this, Louie ! I am greatly re- 
lieved. I feared you did not love him. Women 
are so complicated nowadays. They wash and 
starch and sprinkle and iron their feelings, and 
sometimes hang them out to dry before they find 
out they are in love. I think you would be hap- 
pier, dear, if you would take a shorter cut to mat- 
rimony — but every woman must have her own way, 
I suppose. Now, your mother was different, Louie, 
dear. When I asked her to be my wife, she looked 
up, smiling divinely, and said : * Why, of course. 
Professor Tom; did you suppose I wouldn’t .? ’ But 
she was only a girl, who hadn’t thought things out, 
you know. There don’t seem to be any girls left, 
in the world — female creatures are mature from 
the cradle. Now I am greatly fatigued, dear; I 
think I will lie down for a time. It does relieve 
me so to think of your future with Everett Layton 
and his uncle. I could not leave my little girl all 
alone, could I, dear.? ” 

“Father! Father! Do not say so confidently 


240 The Professor’s Daughter 


that you are going. How do you know.^ You 
are no worse,” she cried, clinging to him. 

“ Perhaps not, Louie, but I have a strange feel- 
ing as if my flesh were slipping, slipping, away 
from my body. I am no longer conscious of my 
body, and my mind sees far, far off into a new land, 
not altogether unfamiliar — a land where pain and 
sorrow have ceased to be. It seems to me a land 
of peace, dear — a land where love abounds, 
stripped of its earthly passions and grown into 
divine proportions. The spirit of rest is every- 
where — rest from the struggles of mundane life, 
but not from its labors, for there labor is adjusted 
in harmony with the mind’s conception of it, as a 
sublime necessity, a divine means. Eternity hav- 
ing no end, this seems to me only a blissful con- 
tinuance, a divine progression, such as my mind 
before could not have conceived. I am ready to 
go if Mary is there ; I cannot see her yet, but 
sometimes I hear her voice. Let me rest a while 
now. We have talked long. ” 

The Professor’s face had brightened as he 
talked, looking within for his vision. Louise in 
silent awe led her father to his bed and covered 
him up. He fell asleep, and rested for some 
time, while she sat beside him with an aching 
heart. She had never told him of her gradually 
dimming eyes. She could not put this sorrow 
upon him in his present condition. 

The following day Mr. Everett was sitting on 
the veranda beside the Professor, who, well wrapped 
up, and wearing his broad-brimmed felt hat shad- 


The Professor’s Daughter 241 

ing his eyes, sat in the full sunlight, of which he 
never seemed to get too much. 

They had been talking over matters of personal 
interest. Mr. Everett had received Louise as a 
precious bequest from her father, and was attempt- 
ing to divert his friend’s mind into a less depress- 
ing channel of thought, when suddenly the Profes- 
sor straightened up in his chair as though he heard 
an unexpected sound, listening intently. 

“ Billy ! ” he exclaimed, with a glad light trans- 
forming his face ; “ Billy ! I hear her voice ! Mary 
calls me ! I am ready,” — and he fell back into the 
great mystery ; but he only appeared to be happy 
in his sleep. 

16 


SIXTEENTH CHAPTER. 


It was in March when Professor Fremont died. 
Louise had begun some time before to feel their 
presence a great tax upon Mrs. Strangemore’s 
sympathies and hospitality, but there was no alter- 
native; her father had grown too weak to be 
moved. Mrs. Strangemore proved her friendship 
further by accompanying Louise and Mr. Everett 
back to the North, where the Professor was buried 
in the college town beside his Mary. Mr. Everett 
informed Doctor Layton by wire of their move- 
ments, and the day after the funeral Louise re- 
ceived these few lines from him : 

“ Surely you will forgive me for breaking the 
silence by telling you how deeply I grieve with 
you and for you. My place is by your side now, 
but you will not permit me to take it. Under any 
other circumstances I should have shown my high 
esteem and respect for Professor Fremont by at- 
tending the services at the end, but I could not 
believe you wished to have me there, because you 
knew one word from you would have called me to 
your side, so I did not go West. 

“ You can at least accept my sympathy in your 
bereavement. Be careful of yourself. 

“ Good-by, again, until I am ready. 

“Everett Layton.” 

These words broke through the haze which 


The Professor’s Daughter 243 

seemed to cover Louise’s brain from the moment 
they first told her that her father was dead. She 
felt the same film over her powers of thought that 
was obscuring her vision. She could not realize. 
Nothing seemed real to her — she could express 
nothing. She sat passively looking out of the car 
window during that long trip to the North with the 
remains. 

She could answer questions, but her creative 
powers were in abeyance. She could not talk, and 
it is hardly probable that she felt much until the 
human tone of her lover’s reproach pierced that 
condition of physical apathy. Alone in her room, 
she read the words and began to cry because she 
had neglected to send him permission to join them. 
Mr. Everett had expressed surprise that his 
nephew did not go West after receiving his tele- 
gram, but instead wired back a message of condo- 
lence, which to Uncle Billy seemed a hard-hearted 
proceeding not in the least like Everett ; then he 
recollected the unusual relations between his 
nephew and “ Tom’s girl,” and straightway forgave 
him. 

From giving expression to a more trivial regret, 
Louise lapsed into utterance of her deep grief for 
herself. Mourners deceive themselves into believ- 
ing that they grieve for the departed, when their 
sorrow is naturally bestowed upon themselves and 
their own loss. All grief is selfish, except in the 
few cases where it is sympathetic. Her own 
loneliness overcame Louise. She cried for hours, 
spending an entire day alone with her realization ; 


244 The Professor’s Daughter 

but after that she shed no more tears. Deep 
natures hold their emotions down in the crater 
of their being, until one day comes an eruption 
devastating and fiery. After which they resume 
their accustomed surface repose. 

Louise looked about her, as a lost child would, 
for protection. She had never before realized that 
need in every woman’s nature. Mrs. Strangemore 
assumed the attitude of a protector, when she in- 
vited the lonely girl to go home with her to Chi- 
cago, after explaining the work she carried on 
there in memory of her husband of an hour. 

He had verbally willed a large amount of money 
to be used in any charitable purpose she considered 
most worthy. She had always held that women 
do each other more harm than good ; and so when 
she began to look for an object in life after her 
own heavy grief fell upon her, she returned to Chi- 
cago, her birthplace, where, in hopes of helping at 
least a few women, she founded a home for those 
of her own sex who, having served their terms in 
prison, jail, or reformatory, could have a chance at 
honest labor before they went from bad to worse, 
owing to the proverbial lack of Christian charity 
shown toward the jail-bird. 

Mrs. Strangemore ’s enthusiasm was contagious, 
and Louise clung to her for very fear of her own 
weak inclination to turn at once to the love whose 
consequences she feared. She must not show her- 
self less strong than the man she loved. Then, 
too, Mrs. Strangemore’ s invitation opened up a 
new field of experience ; it intimated a new read- 


The Professor’s Daughter 245 

ing of the book of life hitherto opened for Lou- 
ise’s perusal at only a few pages. The girl longed 
greedily for a closer sympathy with Doctor Lay- 
ton’s motives. Her intense desire was to under- 
stand his point of view, even if she did not ap- 
prove it. She hardly knew what to do with the 
tumult of conflicting emotions within her heart 
and brain. The gladness of love contended with 
her grief, her temptation to seek Layton’s protec- 
tion at any cost, and the endless consciousness of 
her growing blindness. 

During the night in which she lay awake think- 
ing, she decided to go with Mrs. Strangemore in 
hopes of forgetting, even if she gained no insight 
through the medium of the new experience. She 
could not deny that she was afraid of herself, and 
with this consciousness she realized in a flash what 
temptation is to others of more yielding, emotional 
dispositions. Uncle Billy’s remonstrances were 
part of the temptation. It would have been so 
much easier to have gone home with him as he de- 
sired, and married Doctor Layton at once. Then, 
too. Uncle Billy evinced his injured feelings at her 
preference, urging his own lonely life and his de- 
sire for her presence in his house as a special in- 
ducement. But when Louise’s lips once narrowed 
over her set teeth, persuasion w^.s useless, as Un- 
cle Billy discovered. And so she went to Chi- 
cago, after writing to Doctor Layton : 

“ Can you forgive my negligence in not intimat- 
ing a desire to have you here during my great 
trial.? I was selfish — I forgot — I thought you 


246 The Professor’s Daughter 

would come, forgetting how you might feel about 
it. I am going into a life which I hope will teach 
me the charity which you say I need. While you 
live for me I shall try to make myself worthy of 
your struggle by learning what it all means. 

“ I think I see plainer already. Mrs. Strange- 
more knows, and she is a wise teacher. I begin 
to see that my self-righteousness is unrighteous- 
ness, although my standard of living has not 
changed. Mrs. Strangemore will take care of me 
as nobody but you could. I know you are con- 
quering, and I know you will be glad some day. 
I am so lonely without father. I want to go to 
you now, but I cannot — I should regret afterward 
if I did. When next December comes I hope to 
be ready too — unless I am blind and useless. 

‘‘ Always yours, Louise.” 

When Mr. Everett entered a violent protest 
against Louise’s decision to Doctor Layton, the 
latter replied that he did not consider her plan the 
worst one she could have made by any means. 

“ Well, all I can say is that I do not understand 
the young people of this day and generation,” Mr. 
Everett replied, looking very fierce. 

“ If I were you. I’d go out there and carry her 
off by main force. She’ll be crankier than ever 
when she gets through this course in philanthropy. 
Why don’t you go out and see her, Everett.? 
She’d come back with you, I’ll wager you any- 
thing.” 

“No, Uncle, you don’t know her; besides, we 
have made an agreement by which I am in honor 
bound. I shall never annoy her in any way.” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! I’d annoy her until she 


The Professor’s Daughter 247 

married me on the spot. I beg your pardon, Ev- 
erett, but nineteenth-century love reminds me that 
the earth is cooling off. The idea of that half- 
blind girl roaming around Chicago without a male 
protector! I don’t feel as though I were half do- 
ing my duty by Tom in permitting her to live that 
way.” 

“ She generally had her own way during his 
lifetime. Uncle Billy, and no doubt were he living 
he would not oppose her in this ; but if he were 
living she never would have turned to it. Did you 
ever notice that when good women are left alone 
in the world they always feel a call to reform 
something or somebody, even if it is only a poll- 
parrot or a cat ? Louise inherits the New Eng- 
land love of reform, but she is not by nature a 
reformer of multitudes, because she has small 
sympathy with human nature ; so I think the ex- 
perience will do her no harm, and it may open 
her heart to broader interests.” 

“ I suppose you are counting on her exhausting 
the call she feels for reform on female reprobates, 
so that when she marries you she will have had 
enough and you will go scot free. I have heard 
there were more ways than one of winning a 
woman.” 

“ She seems to be treating me on an equality 
with the female reprobates at present. I count 
on nothing. I do not pretend to understand 
women in the least — every new woman shows me 
a new side of the sex — but I am a firm believer in 
the power of love, and in the superlative purity of 


248 The Professor’s Daughter 


this woman I love, so that whatever she does is 
right, and if she loves me she will be my wife.” 

“ Well, Everett, if you can have that much faith 
after your first experience, you can do more than 1 
can after mine.” 

“ I try to forgive the sex as I ask them to for- 
give me. Uncle, that is all; and you would do the 
same had you ever loved another woman. ” 

I never have loved another one, Everett, be- 
cause my wife’s memory fascinates me still. I 
loved her even when I despised her, Everett. I 
suppose I was her slave while she lived, and am a 
slave to her memory now in my old age when she 
is dead. We’ve never talked about these things 
before, boy, and I hardly think we ever will again, 
but this I know — your life is more empty than 
mine, because I treasure some hours of heaven 
which you do not in the memory of your wedded 
life. You did not give all of yourself before — the 
greatest joy in loving. I did.” 

“That is true. Uncle Billy. I did not. This 
time I do — the best of myself.” 

“ Then you will have some happiness even 
though you lose her. When a man gives all of 
himself, even for one day, he never forgets, nor 
can he ever be entirely lonely. The only time I 
ever spoke of this to any one before was once to 
Tom, who always understood me. He had been 
telling me of his happy married life, and the con- 
trast to my own made me speak bitterly. I re- 
member I said I had no comforting memories, but 
that is not strictly true ; for when I sit before my 


The Professor’s Daughter 249 

fire alone of a winter’s night, with only Monarch 
snoozing at my feet, I drop my book, my eyes shut, 
and she comes back with her exquisitely beautiful 
face pressed against my cheek, calling in that teas- 
ing way she had : ‘ Billy, Billy Everett ! Do you 
really love me? I don’t believe it! No man 
ever spoke the truth I ’ Everett, my wife was 
charming — would God she had been something 
better, too.” He walked over to the window, 
turning his back on the room, but Everett saw 
him brush away a tear with the back of his hand. 
His nephew could find no words of sympathy, but 
in a man’s way he laid one hand on his uncle’s 
shoulder for a few moments, and neither spoke. 
Then Mr. Everett said : “Tom’s death has com- 
pletely unmanned me. You are all I have, my 
boy, you and Louise — and if you were to marry I 
should take great comfort in the union.” 

“ I think we shall marry one day. Uncle Billy 
— within the year, I hope. Then will you come 
and live with us ? ” 

“Thank you, Everett. No; not that. Young 
people are best off alone. The old house and the 
old memories will last me my lifetime. But I’ll 
go to see you often.” 

This conversation took place in Doctor Lay- 
ton’s office. Mr, Everett had stopped over- night 
with his nephew on his way home from the West. 


SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER. 


In the new experiences opened up to her, Louise 
met with two most potent influences in the shaping 
of a woman’s life — contact with the stern realities, 
and the touch of the maternal instinct through the 
love of a little child. 

Amoi\g the women whom Mrs. Strangemore be- 
friended in her Home, was one who brought with 
her a toddling baby, whose lovely face, beguiling 
ways, and sunny temperament carried light and 
sweetness into the life of the girl, who had hith- 
erto left unrecognized within her the humanizing 
mother-love which can be awakened only by the 
touch of a child. Children had never entered her 
life before. 

This baby, Nellie — a rare blossom such as is 
sometimes found growing in the slums — twined 
herself about the hard places in Louise’s nature, 
until, with the effect of the sun on an icicle, this 
new form of love added to her cumulating store of 
knowledge and melted the sharp points of her prej- 
udices. Hers was not the nature to work with 
sympathy or enthusiasm among numbers of people. 
She could only feel near to particular human be- 
ings ; but she found that the sad lives she studied 
and tried to help reflected her best intentions, 
adding unconsciously their own tragedies to her 
changing conception of life. 


The Professor’s Daughter 251 

In a few months it was proved to her that all 
life is not found in books, neither is real culture 
inevitably the result of education in recorded facts. 
Although Mrs. Strangemore gave little time to 
social intercourse, her gracious presence, like a 
magnet, drew people. Among her friends was a 
well-known character in Chicago, a young preacher 
to a fashionable congregation ; a man of arrogant 
egotism, condoned by a handsome, magnetic pres- 
ence, strong, persuasive lingual powers, and under- 
neath this sensational exterior a certain childlike 
humility about the vital questions in which, un- 
known to himself, lay his power over multitudes. 
Louise met this Mr. Herbert Clarendon frequently 
at Mrs. Strangemore ’s house. She attracted his 
attention at first by her calm indifference to his 
personality, which was so habitually worshipped by 
her sex that an easy acceptance of him for what he 
was actually worth at first shocked his vanity, then 
claimed his eager attention. 

During those spring days he found many oppor. 
tunities for piquing his egotism and interest in her 
society. She looked upon him simply as one of 
the phases of her new life ; she studied him as an- 
other type of man with which to compare Doctor 
Layton, and to her supreme satisfaction the latter 
bore the comparison bravely, partly owing to the 
idealized image of him she carried about with her, 
but largely owing to the fact that the real Layton, 
the man whom “ only God and his true love knew,” 
was the finer, braver man of the two. 

Mr. Everett wrote occasionally, but when he 


252 The Professor’s Daughter 

mentioned his nephew it was only to say that he 
was well and as busy as usual. Louise was afraid 
every time she touched her pen that the desire to 
write Layton would overcome her. 

She wrote as little as possible for that reason, 
and because her sight was growing daily more dim. 
She felt the darkness closing down upon her, but 
Layton’s face was the one bright, clear object 
ever visible. 

Mr. Clarendon had never before been treated as 
an object for psychological dissection; that she 
looked upon him as such never once occurred to 
him. 

Her interest in him as a phase he naturally mis- 
took for interest in him as a man. 

By summer-time this interest had become a ne- 
cessity to his happiness, and he made no point of 
concealing it. But Louise moved unconsciously 
on in her own world, unmindful of him, until she 
found herself worn out with the emotional strain 
she had undergone, combined with the heat of an 
inland summer. 

In August she went to Shannock for a visit with 
Uncle Billy, and after a week there she and Mr. 
Everett drove down for several weeks more together 
at the beach. Louise did not ask about Doctor 
Layton ; it was not necessary to do so, because he 
gave her all the news he had — that Everett was, as 
usual, working hard; he had been down only once 
since Christmas. 

Mr. Everett confessed himself surprised at the 
softened, cheerful look in the girl’s face when she 


The Professor’s Daughter 253 

first arrived. The recollections of her father in- 
duced by Mr. Everett’s presence, and the renewal 
of the life at Weecapaug without him, opened 
afresh the wounds Louise had been bandaging in 
Chicago. But she had learned a broader philoso- 
phy, and with it came a power of endurance and a 
content new to her. For the sake of Uncle Billy 
and 01 she would not permit herself to grieve 
openly. Weecapaug was not so attractive to her 
at this time of year, with the cottagers occupying 
Gull Rocks, which she had grown to look upon as 
her special possession, placed there by considerate 
Nature. 

But 01 took her off up the pond and out to sea, 
away from the disturbing elements. Then, too, 
the summer effects of seascape and landscape were 
insignificant compared with the autumn glow she 
had marvelled at and loved, and — Doctor Dayton 
was not there. The first day she went out to sea 
with 01 they fished off the Ledge. As she let out 
the trolling-line after they crossed the bar, Louise 
exclaimed : 01, you don’t know how glad I am 

to get back to you and Weecapaug. I never 
breathe the same in a great city as I do here.” 
She filled her lungs with the salt air, and leaned 
over the side of the boat to dabble her hand in the 
water. 

“ Be on your guard there, gurl. Don’t lean too 
fur over: we don’t want no more accidents. I 
should think yu’d jus’ hate them cities. The air’s 
foul as pisen-ivry be to the touch. If you feel that 
way, why don’t yu come here, an’ live away from 


254 The Professor’s Daughter 


all them noises, and murders, an’ stealings, an' 
things? It’s as much ’s a man’s life’s wurth to 
walk ’s fur’s a fathom’ed be in New York. Doc 
took me round one day, an’ says I by evenin’, ‘ By 
Gui ! Doc, I’ve had enough ! I’ll lose my mind 
a-lookin’. I’ll take the furst train hum ’ ; but we 
went to a theeyter the same night, an’, by Gui ! I 
never did see such heat. ’Twere ’nough to roast 
clams in. It took a holt o’ my feet so ’s I had to 
take off my shoes an’ rest ’em a while — couldn’t 
stand it nohow.” 

“ 01, do you mean that you took off your shoes 
right there in the theatre ? ” 

“I cal’ late I did — just! I were wearin’ them 
red socks Mrs. Clark knits fur all her boys, an’ 
my feet looked jus’ sim’lar to two briled lobsters, 
an’ folks looked mighty hard at ’em; but I wa’n’t 
caren nothin’ ’bout ’em — ’twa’n’t none o’ their 
bizness, an’ comfort’s the furst thing, more’n style 
to my way o’ thinkin’ ” 

“ What did Doctor Layton do ? ” asked Louise, 
trying not to laugh for fear of offending him. 

“Do? He didn’t do nothin but laugh an’ 
say: ‘Enjoy yourself, Ol, while yu’re about it. 
It’s better to lead fashings than to f oiler after 
’em,’ or somethin’ sim’lar to that. Don’t it hurt 
your feet to walk on them stones an’ bricks, gurl? 
It callouses mine all up, jus’ like haulin’ lobster- 
pots does my fabs.” 

“ Your what?” 

“ Fabs — them ” — spreading out one hand from 
under the oar. “ Don’t it tucker you all out? ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 255 

“ No; it does not tucker me because I am used 
to the city streets. Your feet wouldn’t mind the 
stones after a while.” 

“It’s doubtful,” he replied. “Haul him in, 
gurl; you’ve got a shiny mack’rel or something on 
yu’re line. I see him kickin’.” She hauled in a 
mackerel too small for any use but that of bait. 
01 cut it up with a pocket-knife he always car- 
ried, and she let out her line again, saying as she 
did so : “ Have you seen Doctor Layton this sum- 
mer, 01.?” 

“No, I ain’t seen him, but Melissy’s brother 
were up to New York las’ week to see Doc ’bout 
his eyes, they w’s doin’ so porely ; an’ he says Doc 
looks like a sick man. I ’lowed I’d go to New 
York myself an’ find out, if he don’t show up here 
shortly.” 

Louise dropped the hand holding her line as she 
asked quickly ; “ Do you mean that he is really ill .? ” 

“No, not ’zactly; Jake says ’s he ain’t sick 
a- bed, but jus’ low in his mind, an’ ’s thin’s a rail 
fur him. I allays ’lowed we needn’t carry much 
ballast if Doc he were along in the boat, but Jake 
he says he be lookin’ real peaked. ” 

“ Why don’t you go up and see how he is, 01 .? ” 
asked Louise. 

“I allowed you folks ’d know if there were 
much the matter. There ain’t no occasion fur 
fluster ’bout him, be there.? ” 

“No, not that I know of; but I do not hear 
from him myself, and Uncle Billy has heard noth- 
ing for some time.” 


256 The Professor’s Daughter 

Gui ! I cal’late Til have to go. Don’t you 
never write him any word, gurl? I’ll bet you 
ain’t usin’ him square.” 

Louise made no reply. He watched her atten- 
tively a few moments, then said : ** I’m goin’ 
to New York to-morrow, if I’m alive, and if 
Doc ain’t all right I’ll carry him back along o’ 
me.” 

“ He will not come back with you, Oliver, if you 
tell him I am here,” replied Louise, turning her 
back to him as nearly as possible, sitting as she 
was, facing. 

“ Why not ? Ain’t you friends no more } ” 

“ Oh, yes. We shall always be friends. I can’t 
explain, 01 ; but if you go, tell him I am very 
well, and happy in my work ; that my eyes are 
worse, but that I am waiting patiently.” 

“ Land sakes ! Seem’s though yu might write 
that on paper an’ send it by post ’s well’s by me. 
Course I’m willin’ to do anything fur you, gurl, 
but it seems kinda onsensible to carry all them 
words (I’d like’s not forget) when there’s paper an’ 
pencil to hand.” 

No, I can’t write yet. 01, you tell him that 
for me, and then tell me how he is, 01 — I want to 
know exactly how he is, 01 — and, 01, if he is sick, 
stay with him, won’t you.? He’d be so lonely in 
that house by himself.” 

“ I ain’t much on nursin’, but I’d do my best fur 
Doc all’ays. I’ll let you know ’bout him day after 
to-morrow night — if I’m alive an’ he don’t keep 
me cruisin’ round ’long o’ him.” After a moment 


The Professor’s Daughter 257 

of silent speculation, he remarked : “ Women folks 
has kinda streaked nachers, sure. ” 

01 did not appear again until the third day after 
this talk with Louise; then he came walking 
down the post-road from Shannock, exceedingly 
uncomfortable in his best clothes and white shirt, 
owing to the heat of the July sun and his native 
dislike of the attire. Melissa’s house was appar- 
ently deserted when he stepped onto the porch and 
opened the dining-room door. 

Be yu all dead } ” he called. 

Melissa’s voice replied from upstairs : “ No, I 
ain’t buried’ s I know of. Be that yu, 01 Peck- 
ham } The folks ain’t here. He’s gone to Shan- 
nock, an’ she’s out somewhere, settin’ on the 
beach, I cal’ late, ’long o’ them other fool city 
folks, starin’ at the breakers ’s though they’d git 
away if they didn’t look hard at ’em. Where yu 
been } ” She was now standing on the porch be- 
side him. 

“ Cal’ late I’ll set down and rest my bones. I’m 
all sweaty from walkin’ over from Shannock,” re- 
plied 01, deliberately taking a seat on the edge of 
the porch floor. “Ain’t it hot.^ Phew! This 
weather must ha’ been made in the place where 
yu’re headin’ fur, Melissy.” 

“ Oh, shucks ! ” she replied. “ Men folks be 
air ays gruntin’, same’s pigs. Nothin’ ever suits 
’em. It’s all’ays too hot, or too cold, or too some- 
thin’ fur ’em. I asked yu where yu’d been to. 
Wa’n’t they anybody to give you a lift a-comin* 
’long.?” 

17 


258 The Professor’s Daughter 


“ Nary a soul but Mose Tanner from over Mes- 
sapotam way, an’ his old plug ain’t ’s fit to carry 
me’s I be to carry him. How much d’ yu want 
to know where I’ve been to? This shade’s con- 
sid’ble better’n New York. I allowed ’s I lef’ 
New York it mus’ be the place yu’re goin’ to, 
Melissy — ’twere that hot.” 

New York! Yu ain’t been way off there ! I 
want to know I When’d yu go? What took yu 
there?” Melissa’s voice lost its grumpy tone, 
and curiosity stuck out all over her. 

What d’ yu s ’pose I went fur ? A new silk dress 
or a bunnet, or a par’ sol to keep the sun off o’ my 
hide ? I went fur to see my friend. Dr. Everett 
Layton. Do yu know the gentleman ? ” 

Doctor Layton? Ain’t he ever cornin’ down 
here no more? He ain’t sick nor nothin’, be he? 
Say, 01, I allowed las’ fall he were keepin’ com- 
pany along o’ her. Ain’t they goin’ to hitch? 
She’s kinda nicer ’n she were las’ time — sorta 
lamb-like, jus’ ’s folks be when they’s mootchin’, 
an’ I allowed we’s goin’ to have a weddin’ in the 
family, but he ain’t been down. Mebbe it’s an- 
other fellar. Mebbe yu’re keepin’ company ’long 
’th her yurself,” — and Melissa smiled. 

01 laid down his hat, looked straight at Melissa, 
and replied: “ Melissy Stillman, yu don’t want to 
never speak them las’ words again. Do yu hear 
what I’m say in’ to yu? When folks has thoughts 
they hadn’t ought to have, they’d bes’ keep ’em 
to theirselves or there might be trouble. Mind 
what I say.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 


259 


Melissa looked frightened. That tone from 01 
was rare and effective. I wa’n’t meanin’ nothin’ 
bad — I were jokin’, Ol.” 

“Well, yu take my warnin’ an’ find some other 
kind o’ jokes. If women folks had been born 
without no tongues, they’d ha’ been o’ more use 
in the world. Their tongues ’s mostly worse ’n 
their thoughts be,” 01 replied; then, as if anxious 
to change the subject, he continued: “Melissy, 
yu’d ought to ha’ seen a gurl lookin’ at me on the 
cars. A feller I knows in Shannock were settin’ 
’longside o’ me facin’ two gurls. Them gurls 
stared at me till we’s laughin’ at ’em hard. He 
says, ‘ Give ’m the wink, 01,’ but I jus’ looked the 
other way till I couldn’t stand it no longer, an’ I 
looked straight at one o’ them an’ winks one eye. 
She didn’t pay no ’tention, but kep’ on starin’, so 
I jus’ winks the other eye an’ laughs; then she 
turned’s red’s a turkey’s beard, an’ says to her 
mate: ‘ I’d thank him to stop winkin’; I’ll take a 
man o’ my own color — don’t want no injuns or 
niggers ! ’ I were so black, Melissy, she allowed 
my hide were born that way. We laughed fit to 
kill.” 

“ She hadn’t ought to said that,” replied Melissa 
indignantly. “ She ain’t got no better lookin’ fel- 
lar’n yu be.” 

“ How du yu know what kind she’s got } ” 

“ Don’t. But I know ’nough to know they ain’t 
made any better lookin’ n’ yu be.” The smile 
came back. 

“Land sakes, Melissy! What’s took you.^ 


26 o The Professor’s Daughter 


What d’ yu want me to do fur yu?” asked 01, 
again fanning himself with his hat. 

“Say, 01,” began Melissa hesitatingly; “say, 
yu ain’t forgot the offer I made yu. It’ll still 
hold good. Yu ’re gettin’ ’long in years, so 
be I, an’ if we don’t hitch soon we’ll be 
too old fur comfort. Ain’t yu changed yure 
mind ’bout it.^ Yu’d take more comfort here ’n 
my house ’n down at that camp. Say, now, 
wouldn’t yu.? ” 

“ Melissy,” he replied slowly, “I’ve heard tell as 
folks ’s brains be made o’ wheels as grinds out what 
they be thinkin’ ’bout. It seems like your wheels 
has turned round, goin’ the other way, an’ ain’t 
actin’ right nohow. I guess they stuck at marry- 
in’, an’ can’t move either way without greasin’. 
Now, I’ll say it to yu for the las’ time — I ain’t 
got no intentions o’ marry in’ now or never; mar- 
ry in’ an’ me ain’t partners; but I am liable to be 
right here fur a hundred years or so, an’ when yu 
call on me fur anything I can do fur yu I’m all’ays 
willin’ to do it. I see gurl walkin’ up the east 
road. I’ll be tadpolin’ along. I’ve got some 
words fur her.’’ 

Melissa had evidently made him uncomfortable, 
but she seemed in no wise disconcerted by what 
01 said, although a vacant look of regret came 
over her face as she sat watching him go down the 
road to the bridge. Louise knew him by his walk 
before she could see his face, and her impulse was 
to run to meet him. She controlled this, but per- 
ceptibly hastened her speed, calling out to him as 


The Professor’s Daughter 261 

they approached each other : ** Ol, is it you ? Did 
you really go to New York? ” 

“Now, gurl, where d’ yu cal’ late I’d be goin’ 
in them clothes this weather? How be yu? 
Been well since I started on my travels ? ” 

“Yes, I’m all right, thank you. Did you see 
him — Doctor Layton ? Is he really ill ? ” she 
asked, trying to hide her impatience. 

“Yes, I seen him, after waitin’ half a day fur 
them patients to git done.” 

“ Then he was well enough to attend his office 
hours ? ” 

“He’s all’ays well enough to work, ’cordin’ to 
him. It’s only other folks ’s ever sick ’nough to 
lay a-bed. Come along an’ see if there ain’t some 
shade to be got by the bridge, an’ Ol’ll tell yu all 
about things.” 

As they walked along he continued : “ Doc 
ain’t what I’d call real sick, but I’m thinkin’ he 
be porely, though he laughed at me fur sayin’ so. 
Yu see, gurl, there’s jus’ one p’int on which me 
an’ Doc splits — that’s drinkin’.” Louise looked 
at him in alarm, a flood of distressing apprehen- 
sions sweeping over her at the thought of what 
01 might mean. He had hesitated. She com- 
manded : “ Go on.” 

“Yes, gurl — it’s drinkin’ me and him splits on 
— not ’s he ever were drunk to my knowin’, an’ if 
he says he weren’t he weren’t ; but strong ’s he be, 
that pisened stuff ’ll harm him — that stuff he calls 
cocktails — an’ I see him once drink down nearly 
half a glass o’ whiskey straight before he cut out 


262 The Professor’s Daughter 

something or other from a man. He tole me yes- 
tar day as how he hadn’t drank a drop o’ the stuff 
since las’ Christmas, an’ he allowed goin’ without 
so sudden-like were wastin’ him some, ’cause he 
works jus’ the same an’ don’t have no bracer, ’s 
he calls them drinks. I were so glad to hear he’d 
come round to my way o’ thinkin’, I didn’t mind 
so much his lookin’ ’s peaked ’s he be. He al- 
lowed he were too much worked to come down 
now, but he cal’lated to come down a long spell 
next summer. He says : ‘Tell her that, an’ I hope 
she’ll be there, too, an’ I’m almos’ ready. ’ Doc 
all ’ays do use queer landguage occasion ’ly. Can 
yu make them las’ words out.^ I can’t.” 

“Yes,” said Louise, “I think I know what he 
means. Thank you, 01. I am glad to know he 
is not ill.” 

“But yu ain’t glad.’nough to go an’ see him 
yureself or write him a line or tell him to come 
down here! He’d come if yu’d say the word.” 

“ No, Oliver, I cannot do any of those things. 
Some day perhaps I will tell you why. I want to 
see Doctor Layton more than you want me to, but 
I cannot until next Christmas.” 

“ Land sakes I Wait till Christmas to see a 
man yu wants to see, when he ain’t fur off I Guess 
yu don’t want very hard. Cal’ late Doc ’d be 
pleased to hear you say it.” She made no reply; 
and the subject having met a barrier, neither one 
returned to it, but presently Oliver remarked: 
“Gurl, I wish I’d been learnt somethin’ when I 
were a kid. It mus’ be nice to know things ’s yu 


The Professor’s Daughter 263 

an’ Doc does. I ain’t never thought about it till 
lately, an’ I wish I’d took the schoolin’ I might ha’ 
took at the schoolhouse on the hill.” 

This was a new phase of 01 ’s mind Louise 
hardly knew how to meet it. “ I wouldn’t have 
you different in any way, 01. Anybody can learn 
things out of books, but nobody can be just like 
you. You are like the sand-dunes — a picturesque 
part of Weecapaug.” 

I don’t want to be like no sand-hill, an’ I ain’t 
no piccher. I’d ought to learned things when I 
were a kid — it’s too late now, ain’t it, gurl.? ” 

Oh, no, 01 — what do you want to learn ” 

** Oh, things. How to talk, an’ about the stars 
an’ furrin tongues, an’ how to make picchers the 
way the woman on the beach makes ’em, an’ how 
to sing, an’ all them things folks knows.” 

The thought of 01 as a painter or a singer was 
amusing, but the pathos of his longing induced 
her to reply gravely: “Why, 01, nobody can do 
all of those things. One person paints, one sings, 
one writes, and one fishes, but not many of them 
know their business as well as you do yours. 
What ever started you to thinking about that ? ” 

“ Well — I — kinda — thought — you liked folks to 
know all them things, gurl,” he said hesitatingly; 
then suddenly, for him, he called out to a teamster 
approaching: “Say, there, John! Got a match? 
I want to light up Mary Ann.” 

He got up and walked to the team, where the 
man furnished a match and held him in conversa- 
tion. Louise had looked at him in some aston- 


264 The Professor's Daughter 

ishment when he made that reply, but his sud- 
den change of tone disarmed her fears, and she 
thought : It is a great pity he never went to 

school, but I would not have him different for any- 
thing.” When he returned to her he began to 
tell about the girl he had winked at on the train. 


EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER. 


After the first period of renewed sorrow and 
realization aroused by personal contact with Wee- 
capaug associations, Louise drifted back into the 
enjoyment of the ideal life — the life that dreamed 
itself away. The fruit of the tree of knowledge is 
not palatable to the idealist, the happiest among 
mortals, as he is fed only upon the beautiful ; the 
most miserable when practical truth is forced upon 
him. 

Louise was learning that everything having one 
side must have another ; that impulse, not premed- 
itation, is responsible for the majority of wrongs. 
This recognition had not come to Louise all at 
once; each day since her father’s death had been a 
hard lesson ; and now that her conscience permitted 
her to drift again on the plea of rest for body and 
mind, she experienced a child’s holiday feeling. 
The temptation to send for Layton grew stronger 
every day. Why must she go back to hard lessons 
in misery instead of drifting to his side again, thus 
releasing him from his vow and making life easier 
for them both? 

This was the question which haunted her days. 
If he could keep his word for six months, he could 
for twelve or forever; and then she pictured him 
emaciated and haggard in the struggle. 


266 The Professor’s Daughter 

Every morning on waking she listened for his 
voice, in hopes that he might come by accident. 
That would have solved the difficulty. If he came 
without her bidding she would not be responsible 
for helping him break his promise to wait a year. 
But he did not come. Layton was a man of his 
word. She grew restless. Even 01 could not in- 
terest her long at a time, and the sound of the sea 
irritated her ; it chained her mind to the persistent 
thought of her lover. 

A letter came from Mr. Clarendon, which she 
left unanswered. Perhaps she would have suc- 
cumbed to the temptation to be happy with Layton 
at the expense of her conscience had she not been 
a very proud woman, whose growing affliction hum- 
bled her greatly in her own estimation, thus in- 
creasing her appreciation of what she deemed Lay- 
ton’s generosity in offering to give his life into 
the keeping of a blind woman. Intuitively she 
knew that any weakening on her part would lessen 
his respect for her, and still she longed for hap- 
piness. 

She was growing morbid and nervous over her 
own lack of decision, when early in September she 
received a letter from Mrs. Strangemore, asking 
her to come back at once to pacify little Nellie, 
who, in an extreme illness, cried and moaned for 

Mamma Lulu,” as she called Louise. This mes- 
sage was decisive. 

She left the next day for Chicago, glad of some 
outside force urging her beyond temptation. Un- 
cle Billy went out to Chicago with her, ostensibly 


The Professor’s Daughter 267 

to defend her from any possible dangers she might 
encounter owing to her failing sight ; but undoubt- 
edly his curiosity concerning what he, in grim 
humor, called her disreputable living among Mrs. 
Strangemore’s protegees, influenced his going. 
Out there he met Mr. Clarendon, and immediately, 
in his headlong way, conceived an aversion for 
him which he took no pains to conceal. Baby 
Nellie recovered, but Louise experienced that ex- 
ultant glow which fills us all at the thought of be- 
ing necessary to others, and of fulfilling a definite 
purpose. The demands of the child’s love had 
saved her in a time of weakness ; she rejoiced that 
her presence strengthened the child. 

Mr. Everett remained but a short time. On 
leaving he referred to Christmas, when he and 
Everett would expect ^ ) have Louise with them; 
but she shook her head doubtfully, eliciting from 
him considerable bluster about the whimsicalities 
of modern women who play with reform. 

The autumn passed monotonously. Louise was 
living only for that Christmas-time when her lover 
would come for her and take her with him back to 
Uncle Billy. She believed so implicitly in the 
message he would send her as a Christmas offer- 
ing, and in his immediate following after the mes- 
sage, that she had made up her mind to marry him 
there at once, under Mrs. Strangemore’s roof and 
protection — provided that was what Everett would 
wish, she added in her thoughts, coloring and smil- 
ing at the thought of him. 

Had she possessed a home or family, the condi- 


268 The Professor’s Daughter 

tions would have been otherwise ; but as it was, she 
pictured Doctor Layton’s commanding and caress- 
ing letter, beginning with ** I am ready.” Then 
he would appear as soon as her reply could reach 
him and the trip out to Chicago could be made. 
In the midst of her happy imaginings there would 
flash over her the sudden recollections of her in- 
creasing ocular disability; then her heart would 
stop beating happiness and fall heavily, as a shud- 
der passed over her. Her thoughts would moan : 

How can I burden him with my life? Love 
makes me do it, Everett. What if you should 
ever regret ! Even then you would not let me feel 
my blindness, my incompetency, dearest, for you 
are such a generous man. I have conquered my 
pride because I am too selfish to let you go. 
Christmas is so long in coming ! I said I would 
go to him, but of course he understands I couldn’t 
do that unless it were absolutely necessary. I 
shall be so glad to say honestly, ‘ I understand you 
as well as I love you now, Everett. ’ I would give 
ten years of my life to be a beautiful, capable 
woman, with eyes, but perhaps he wouldn’t care 
so much then; he is like Uncle Billy — he loves to 
take care of me. It is beautiful the way they do 
it, and I never had any one to take care of me in 
all my life.” 

Mrs. Strangemore noticed an unusual excite- 
ment in Louise’s manner all during the week be 
fore Christmas. She was forming her own ideas 
about the growing friendship between Louise and 
Mr. Clarendon. She had never heard of Layton 


The Professor's Daughter 269 

until Mr. Everett accompanied her friend back to 
Chicago. She merely smiled at her friend’s symp- 
toms, and thanked her for the months they had 
passed together. 

“Don’t thank me,” replied Louise. “I owe 
you so much.” She paused a moment, and then 
continued consciously, with a slight tremble of her 
lips : “ Perhaps I shall ask another favor of you in 
a little while. I cannot tell you now — perhaps I 
can to-morrow, after dinner. I think that would 
be a good time, don’t you? ” 

“ Any time would be good for me to grant you 
a favor, my dear. It sounds like something very 
big. Is it?” 

“ It is very big to me,” said Louise happily. 

The Christmas-time brought back distinctly to 
Louise her sorrow in her father’s absence. They 
had always made a great event of the holiday sea- 
son together, and Louise caught herself listening 
for his voice and step. She could not yet realize 
that never again would he waken her with his 
“ Merry Christmas, daughter ! ” “ Christmas gift ! ” 
No matter where they had been during their years 
of wandering, the Professor never failed to fill her 
stocking and hang it, full of remembrances, on her 
door-knob of a Christmas morning. 

But with this sad sense of her loss was mingled 
the keenest joy her life had ever known. As she 
dressed, Christmas morning, she almost felt in her 
hand that letter from Layton, which she knew was 
waiting for her on the breakfast-table, where the 
morning’s mail was always found. She saw the 


270 The Professor’s Daughter 

kind of stationery he would use, and how her name 
would look in his hurried, inky writing. 

She sang as she dressed, and Mrs. Strangemore, 
in her own room, imagined she knew a secret ; as 
the girl went downstairs she controlled her ten- 
dency to run, but the beats of her heart accele- 
rated, thumping and bumping against each other 
as she reached the dining-room door, where Mrs. 
Strangemore met and detained her by a Christmas- 
morning kiss. As her friend held her, Louise 
looked over Mrs. Strangemore ’s shoulder at her 
place at the dining-table. She saw no letter. 
She looked again. There was nothing there. 
“Has the mail come?” she asked Mrs. Strange- 
more. 

“Yes, Ellen left it all at my place this morn- 
mg. 

Louise moved quickly toward the pile of letters 
and packages. She rapidly looked them over — a 
letter from Mr. Everett; several from different 
friends and acquaintances ; one from Mr. Claren- 
don ; some small packages — that was all. 

“ Is there another mail to-day ? ” asked Louise, 
looking up at Mrs. Strangemore anxiously. 

“No; this is a legal holiday, you remember, 
dear. Isn’t what you want there? ” 

“No,” said Louise, dropping the letters on the 
table. “ It has not come, and I have waited a 
whole year for it.” 

“Tell me, Louise, if you will.” Mrs. Strange- 
more moved toward her with one of her exquisitely 
sympathetic movements. 


The Professor’s Daughter 271 

“No; I can’t now, Grace. I can’t talk. Per- 
haps some time. Let us have breakfast.” 

Louise’s face had grown whiter, and had hard- 
ened, but she ate her breakfast calmly; they 
talked of the day’s festivities. 

“ You are forgetting your mail, Louise. Won’t 
you read the other letters?” asked Mrs. Strange- 
more as they left the room. 

“Yes, thank you. I forgot them. This is one 
from Mr. Everett, isn’t it? — from Uncle Billy — 
perhaps he will explain — he may be ill. Thanks ; 
I will take them upstairs and read them. I’ll be 
ready by ten o’clock.” 

“ Don’t go, Louise, unless you feel just like it,” 
said Mrs. Strangemore, whose position was trying 
because, having seen Mr. Clarendon’s writing on 
one of the letters, she found that her intuition had 
served her falsely — he was not the man, and there 
was nothing for her to offer in the way of comfort. 

Louise opened Mr. Everett’s letter with her 
forefinger as she went upstairs, and began reading 
the letter held close to her eyes feeling her way 
along. It was in his usual hearty vein, relating 
some jokes about 01 and Melissa, and conveying 
their Christmas remembrances ; but Doctor Lay- 
ton was not mentioned, except at the close, where 
he wrote : 

“ Everett will be with me on Christmas Day as 
usual. How we shall miss you and your dear 
father ! I must confess that if you were not Lou- 
ise I should be hurt at your absence. As it is, I 
try to believe Tom’s girl has some good reason.” 


2/2 The Professor’s Daughter 

Doesn’t he understand anything without being 
told ! ” cried Louise, as she sat on the side of the 
bed, his letter in her hand, the others fallen on the 
floor at her feet unnoticed. How could I go to 
his house, as if I were thrusting myself upon his 
nephew — a poor, blind mortal, of no use to any- 
body ! It’s just as well I did not go, as his neph- 
ew has failed me. Everett ! Everett ! I be- 
lieved in you as I would in myself ! Perhaps he 
dreads the sacrifice when it comes to the point. 
No; I don’t believe that. He doesn’t know what 
considering himself means. No; he must have 
failed in his effort to satisfy me. I could forgive 
even that now. If I were not going blind — if I 
could only be sure, I would write and tell him so. ” 
She sat thinking for half an hour, until her faith 
in his love for her returned; then with a heavy sob- 
bing sigh she put Mr. Everett’s letter back into 
its envelope, leaning down and slowly picking up 
the others spread about on the floor. She read 
several of them indifferently, then broke the seal 
of Mr. Clarendon’s, with a mental question as to 
what he could have to say. His letter was a pro- 
posal of marriage. He wrote that, because she 
avoided him, he was compelled to convey to her 
in this way what he felt and desired. She read it 
through, then laughed mockingly as she exclaimed 
aloud : ** A love-letter from the wrong man ! A 
farce, isn’t it?” Then throwing herself back on 
the bed, she called reproachfully, as if he could 
hear: ''Everett! Everett! I trusted you so! 
How could you fail me? ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 273 

Mr. Clarendon’s letter fell to the floor with the 
rest, and she lay still, with her hands clinched in 
the pillows in which her face was hidden. Mrs. 
Strangemore called her. She hurriedly changed 
her dress, and went out of the house with cold 
eyes and narrowed lips. 

She could not talk until they returned in the 
afternoon, when she tried to explain to her friend, 
but broke down in the effort. As she sat trying 
to swallow her sobs of self-pity, the maid came 
in with a yellow envelope, asking if Miss Fremont 
had not seen the telegram for her on the hall 
table. It had come just after they left in the 
morning. Louise read hurriedly : 

“ Merry Christmas. I am ready. Wire Shan- 
nock. Everett Layton.” 

All she realized at first were the words ** I am 
ready.” Looking up at Mrs. Strangemore stand- 
ing by, she exclaimed: It is from him! He 
has not failed me, after all I I am so glad I can 
hardly speak I ” 

She read it over again while Mrs. Strangemore 
stood silently watching her, awaiting developments 
and a solution of the mystery. This time as she 
read, Louise was struck with the strangeness of a 
lover’s message conveyed by wire in those few, 
abrupt words when the post was available. “ Wire 
Shannock.” How strange! What was she to 
wire to Shannock? Oh, yes, the agreement was 
that she was to go to him ; but she could not do 
that. In the first place, she had no one to travel 
x8 


274 The Professor’s Daughter 

with ; and, secondly, any man ought to know that 
she would naturally expect him to come to her, no 
matter what she had said a year before. How- 
ever, he, of course, could not be certain how she 
might receive his message. Yes, she must tele- 
graph him at once. All of this flashed through 
her mind before she spoke again, asking : “ Grace, 
can your man take a telegram out for me at 
once? ” 

“ Certainly. Write it, and I will send it out.” 

Yes, I will — at once; then when you send it, 
come back to me for a few moments before the 
guests arrive, and I will explain to you. I don’t 
know what to say. I expected a long letter from 
him, and have received a few words, which, though 
the ones I have waited for, are not easy to answer 
by telegraph. Give me a minute to think. ” 

She leaned her head on her left hand, stared out 
of the window a few moments, then wrote on a 
slip of paper : 

** So glad. Cannot go to you now. Cannot see 
my way. Write.” 


NINETEENTH CHAPTER. 


It was mid- June on the road to Weecapaug. 
April had cried; May had smiled, and now June 
bloomed in consequence : June, with her sensuous 
grace, her intoxicating scent, her lazy languor, her 
occasional recollections of October. 

June was born on a bed of roses in the Elysian 
fields, the child of smiles and tears. She grew to 
maidenhood a perfect physical creature, but of wil- 
ful, stormy disposition. She loved the dreamy 
Prince of Day too well ; her weakness lay in yield- 
ing; her punishment came in separation. The 
decree from the Elysian monarch proclaimed : 
^‘Thou shalt wed the Starry Night.” June made 
a last request to see her Prince once more. 
“Yes,” came the decree, “one last meeting with 
the Prince, then eternal separation.” Thus was 
created the rare day in June, a token of the last 
ecstasy of the Elysian maid and the Prince of 
Day. 

On this anniversary of the rare day in June, Dr. 
Everett Layton arrived in Shannock at his uncle’s 
house. As he walked up from the station there 
were symptoms either of spring fever in his lag- 
ging steps or change of disposition since we last 
saw him. In truth, it was neither. Symptoms 
are as inconsistent as human beings. He had put 


2/6 The Professor’s Daughter 

forth his deepest affection, his mightiest effort 
toward perfection, only to receive in return what 
he considered ill, if not frivolous, treatment from 
the woman for whose sake he had striven. 

A man of his disposition can brook any amount 
of unkind treatment rather than insincerity. Mon- 
arch lay in the sun on the porch when Layton 
walked up the gravel path to the old Everett house 
and sat down beside the dog, who had roused him- 
self sufficiently to joyfully welcome his old friend. 
But these friendly energies were ephemeral on a 
sleepy day — he soon returned to his slumbers. 
Doctor Layton watched him and nearly laughed 
at the dramatic action of Monarch’s rest. The 
dog stretched himself and sighed, then snuggled 
down to sleep. Presently a fly came along and 
settled on his nose. Monarch indifferently slapped 
it off with one paw, opening one eye half way for 
a moment. He gave another yawn and snuggle. 
Sleep came for a minute or two. Suddenly he 
bounded to his feet, barking violently, running up 
and down in search of a thief, some canine enemy, 
or a nightmare — the cause of his sudden attacks of 
violence was never disclosed. 

Quiet, Monarch! Down, sir!** commanded 
Layton; ** ’twas only a bumblebee.** 

The dog looked at him questioningly. Layton 
nodded. Monarch seemed satisfied and rather 
ashamed, for he dropped his head between his 
fore legs, his tail between his hind, slunk over to 
the sunny spot, sighed deeply three times, and 
slept, opening one eye at intervals and slapping off 


The Professor’s Daughter 277 

the flies until he snored, when a step from within 
the house made him spring up again, uttering that 
indescribable sound of canine welcome known to 
the Gordon setter, and which might be called a 
compromise between a squeal and a grunt. Lay- 
ton looked up and saw his uncle standing in the 
doorway. 

^‘Well, well! When did you come?” said Mr. 
Everett, showing keen pleasure in his genial 
eyes. 

Just a few moments ago. I thought I’d cool 
off in the shade before going in. Everything was 
so quiet I thought you must be away,” replied 
Layton, standing up to shake hands with his uncle. 

“It is a quiet, beautiful day, isn’t it? I was 
writing letters in the library, but I thought I heard 
some one come up on the porch, and came out to 
see if I was mistaken. How goes it? ” 

“As slow as the day. Uncle Billy. I’ve got 
the hypo or blue devils or both, so I came down to 
see you and 01 — the panacea for all my woes.” 

“ Haven’t you had any news yet? ” 

Layton shook his head negatively. 

“It’s very strange, Everett. Are you sure she 
said she would write? You never showed me the 
telegram, you know.” 

“ Absolutely sure. Here it is. I have carried 
it around with me ever since it came, hoping to 
find some sudden light on the meaning. Read it 
for yourself.” 

He took a much-worn telegram out of his left 
vest pocket and handed it to Mr. Everett, who sat 


278 The Professor’s Daughter 


down on a porch chair, adjusted his glasses, giv- 
ing a curious little pucker to his lips — a habit of 
his when reading — and looked over the telegram 
several times. So glad. Cannot go — to — you — 
now. Cannot see — my way,” he read, breaking 
the words meditatively. “Write.” 

“Yes, it is there, — 'write.’ She might have 
said, ' will write,’ but women always do economize 
on telegrams — or she might have meant for you 
to write if there was anything left for you to write 
about after she declined you. Let me see ! Let 
me see ! ” He meditated again upon the words of 
the telegram, then delivered himself : “ Everett, it 
is impenetrable, but if you will permit me to speak 
the unvarnished truth, you are a fool for not going 
out there and investigating the matter. Happi- 
ness is such a rare plant it is worth cultivating. 
Don’t let it go to seed. You look awfully down 
in the mouth. I was a fool myself for telling you 
how things looked to me out there — it’s the only 
womanish thing I ever did in my life. I naturally 
despise tattlers ; but if I found there was a rival in 
my field I’d gird up my loins and show him my 
mettle, not sulk in a corner.” 

“ You’re pretty hard on me. Uncle Billy,” re- 
plied Layton, his eyes flashing an instant. “I’m 
not sulking. I’m trying to stand on my dignity — 
if I ever had any.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Everett,” replied Mr. Ever- 
ett. “ I most certainly beg your pardon. I for- 
get sometimes that you are not still a boy to be 
scolded roundly for pig-headedness.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 279 

“That’s all right, Uncle. Scold away, but it 
won’t do any good.” 

“Well, but, Everett, just let me hint something 
to Louise in the letter I am writing her to-day — 
something to draw her out on the subject — won’t 
you?” 

“ Not a word. Uncle, at the risk of my displeas- 
ure. It’s hard luck to have been born sensitive 
as I was. I suppose I’m what a woman would call 
hurt — hurt not only in my pride, but in my deep- 
est affection. Louise, as I told her once, is an 
idealist in that she searches always for an ideal 
shaped and ready for her worship ; while I, who 
never look for ideals on earth, unconsciously cre- 
ate them in my own mind in the image of those I 
love. She has undermined my ideal of her, and 
with it the love which was growing to be like yours 
for your wife. I was beginning to be happy in 
the mere act of loving — it filled so much of my 
life with good feeling and high desire. But a 
woman who could flirt with reform as applied to 
me and throw me over finally — oh! We’d better 
not talk about it — I might say something I’d re- 
gret afterward. She was mistaken — she found she 
did not love me — that at my level best I was not 
worthy of her, which, of course. I’m not, and 
so ” He stopped talking, and smoothed Mon- 

arch’s head and back with his hand. 

“ If Louise were not in the habit of using meta- 
phorical and rather highfalutin phrases. I’d insist 
that I cannot see my way was literal,” replied 
Mr. Everett, returning to perusal of the telegram. 


200 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ Young people are always getting into some fool- 
ish muddle over their love affairs, and things come 
right in the end, as I believe this will. It’s fate. 
The minute I knew she was Tom Fremont’s 
daughter I knew you were meant for e^ch other. ” 

“ You forget that I am not a very young person ; 
neither is Louise a mere girl. We both have de- 
cided minds of our own ” 

“ Now you’ve hit the nail on the head; if minds 
stand for wills, you’d both be better off if one or 
the other had less of that commodity. Now I 
must tell you one thing, Everett : although I care 
for you as my own son, I cannot let this misunder- 
standing between you and Louise separate me en- 
tirely from Tom’s girl. I am her natural protec- 
tor, if you are not to be, and by next fall, if this 
affair is not settled amicably between you, I in- 
tend, when I go out to Chicago to look after her 
business interests, to bring Louise back to my 

house with me if she will come ” 

Or hasn’t married meantime,” interposed Lay- 

ton. 

“ Of course, that is to be taken into considera- 
tion, but I have my doubts. I don’t believe that 
any woman having loved you could ever love any 
one else ” 

Nonsense, Uncle! Mabel was a fine illustra- 
tion of that truth.” 

“ Don’t let us speak of her — she was a totally 
unworthy person. Louise Fremont will yet be 
your wife — mind my words. It must be lunch 
time. Are you coming in ? ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 281 

** Yes, just to lunch with you; then I’m going 
down to fish with 01 this afternoon,” replied Lay- 
ton, following Mr. Everett into the house. 

^‘The boy is in you still. I remember how, 
when you were a little shaver, you’d fling out of 
the house after a scolding, calling back : ‘ I don’t 
care what you say — I’m going fishing with 01- 
Mebbe I’ll never come back. We’re going to be 
sea captains.’ ” Mr. Everett smiled paternally 
upon Layton, who replied: Yes, ‘ fishin’ with 
01 ’ has saved me from many a worse thing all my 
life.” 

It was mid- June on the road to Weecapaug. 

01 Peckham was sitting on the bridge with Mary 
Ann. They were both smoking. The small rifle 
was at rest near by. 01 had a way of talking 
things over with Mary Ann. 

“Well, Mary Ann,” said he, “I cal’late there’ll 
be rain before mornin’. Them maretail clouds 
mean bizness. I allow we’d better not be tadpolin’ 
round here much longer ’s long’s them fish ’s to 
be dressed an’ the boat set to rights. 

“ By Gui ! This weather be draggin’ ! A fellar 
can’t git no move on in it. Mary Ann, s’pose 
you’d like to see gurl ’s much ’s I would? Them 
maretail clouds all’ays turns my thoughts on her. 
She all’ays ’lowed they resembled an’ ole white- 
haired woman’s switch. It’s cur’us ’bout her’n 
Doc, ’n why she don’t come back here nor say 
she’s cornin’. There be somethin’ crooked round, 
but if I w’s Doc I wouldn’t take it so to heart as 
to let on to folks. Why, ’f you w’s to drop over- 


282 The Professor’s Daughter 


board, Mary Ann, I’d jus’ say never mind — there’s 
plenty more to git where you come from. Sure ’s 
yu’re alive, though, there ain’t many to git along 
side o’ gurl. When I think mebbe ’tain’t to be 
fur me to see her again, I jus’ have to swaller 
whether or no, an’ my feelin’s goes down to the 
zero pint. What’s that? ’Twere a Bob White in 
them bushes behind Melissy’s ! ” 

01 answered the bird-call in perfect imitation. 

“ Bob White ! Bob White ! ” came back to him, 
apparently from the interior of Melissa’s horse 
barn. 

Melissy must ’a’ took to warblin’, or else 
Sade’s got back her bearin’ an’s celebratin’. 
Quails don’t roost in horse barns ’s I know of. 
By Gui! if ’tain’t Doc! Mary Ann, thinkin’ o’ 
gurl must ha’ brung him ! ” 

01 changed his whistle from one bird-call to 
another, echoed by Layton as he walked down the 
road, having left his team at Melissa’s. When he 
approached within speaking distance, 01 called out 
lazily in great good humor : “ Bob Whites be wear- 
in’ pants these days, be they? Well, they’d be 
acceptable if they’s in petticoats an’ wore their 
feathers on a bunnet. Where’d yu come from? 
Did a house fall on yu? ” 

‘‘No, why? Do I look like it?” replied Lay- 
ton, his face brightening. 

“Gui, yes! Yu look all fell in. Be yu?” re- 
plied 01, sitting still and smoking serenely. 

Layton was surprised to hear himself laugh. 
He had decided that he never could do that again, 


The Professor’s Daughter 283 

but laughter was his native element, his principal 
recuperative force, and no grief could rob him of 
his sense of humor. He sat down near 01 and 
took off his hat. 

Better not,” said 01. ** Sunstrokes be round 

for the summer.” 

“ ril risk a sunstroke in June every time,” re- 
plied Layton, taking up the rifle and drawing out 
the rod. “ Loaded? ” he asked. 

“ Not if I know it — layin’ round like that. Say, 
Doc, what’d yu come fur? Found yu couldn’t 
live without me or Melissy, which? ” 

“You, 01,” replied Layton, his face growing 
grave again. “ Left my work and everything 
else in the middle of the week just to come 
down and see you. I’m getting desperate, 01, 
and I came down to see if you couldn’t give me 
a lift.” 

“ Money or temper, which one d’yu want? I’ve 
got ’em both in bank, an’ yu’re welcome to any o’ 
my belongin’s all’ays. Doc; yu know that.” 

“Yes, 01, I do know it. I’ve got more money 
than I know what to do with the way I live now. 
It isn’t that, and it isn’t exactly temper — I suppose 
it’s comfort I want.” 

“Comfort?” repeated 01, knocking the ashes 
out of Mary Ann and replacing her in his hip 
pocket. “ Melissy says as man wa’n’t made to 
take comfort this side o’ Heaven, an’ it’s oncertain 
even in that place. ’Tain’t my principles o’ 
things, though. Comfort’s to be got fur the ask- 
in’, if you know where to look.” 


284 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ Tell me where to look, 01. I’d go to the ends 
of the earth for it. ” 

Oh, that’s too fur. Yu all’ays want’s to go 
out of the way fur things. I cal’ late if yu’d start 
out an’ stop when yu git to Chicago yu’d find 
some o’ that article floatin’ round to spare.” 

“ No, it wouldn’t be to spare for me,” replied 
Layton, cleaning out the barrel of the rifle with 
the end of the rod wrapped in a piece of flannel. 

“ Now, see here. Doc, me ’n’ yu be friends, an’ 
there ain’t no use talkin’ same’s them riddles in 
almanacs. If yu’ve got a mind to tell me ’bout yu 
’n’ gurl. I’ve got a mind to listen an’ give all the 
comfort I’ve got, when I know what it’s fur I be 
given. I never did take no stock in beatin’ ’bout 
the bush unless there’s quail to be riz by it. Stop 
beatin’ an’ speak yu’re mind, or yu ’n’ me ’ll drop 
the subject in han’, as the Hon ’able Charles 
Henry Callender says the other evenin’ at a politi- 
cal speakin’ up to Shannock when Bill Clarke he 
got the better o’ him in argyment.” 

“Don’t you understand, Ol, that the subject in 
hand is almost too sacred for a man to speak to 
another about?” replied Layton, who in his boy- 
hood always went to 01 with every important item 
of his life, placing it with him for safe-keeping. 

“Then don’t speak about it,” returned 01. 

“ The only reason I have for telling you this is 
that you know Miss Fremont so well, and have 
such a keen insight into human nature, that as a 
last resort I have come to you for an explanation 
of her conduct toward me.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 285 

“What’s she done to yu? ” asked 01, quick to 
take up her defence. “ I allow there’s two sides 
to a question. Mebbe yu’ve done somethin’ to 
her ’s well.” 

“ I certainly have not to my knowledge. When 
we parted after that Christmas together at Uncle 
Billy’s, she promised to be my wife at the end of 
the year, provided I would live the life she wished 
me to, alone until the next Christmas, when, if I 
succeeded, I was to send her word by the one sen- 
tence, * I am ready. ’ Last Christmas, being able 
to honestly say that to her, I got all ready to start 
West the day after Christmas, closed my house, 
gave Jenny a vacation, packed plenty of clothes, 
and came down to spend Christmas with Uncle 
Billy. My hope was that she would marry me out 
there and we could have a little trip together be- 
fore coming back to Uncle Billy’s, where she could 
have stayed until I could fit up a house in town 
that I had bought for her. I didn’t want to fix it 
up until I knew how she would like to have it 

done. Early Christmas morning I wired her ” 

“ Yu done what? ” interrupted 01. 

“ Telegraphed her, ' I am ready ’ ” 

“Land o’ Goshen! Couldn’t you take time to 
write a letter to a lady yu was after in marriage? ” 
“ Of course, I could have written to her,” re- 
plied Layton, in a tone of surprise. It never had 
occurred to him before that exception could be 
taken to the manner of his wooing. “ But it 
seemed to me she would know exactly how anxious 
I was to see her if I wired. ” 


2 86 The Professor’s Daughter 


** What’d giirl do? ” asked 01, the smiling wrin- 
kles growing about his eyes. 

I told her to wire back to me at Shannock. 
Late in the evening I received a message saying : 
' I cannot go to you. I cannot see my way,’ add- 
ing that she would write.” 

Well, then, yu’d ought to gone after her if she 
tole yu she couldn’t see her way,” said Ol, with 
displeasure. *‘Yu know better’ n anybody how 
blind she be gettin’, poor gurl ! ” 

“Oh, that wasn’t what she meant, 01; you 
don’t understand. People say they can’t see their 
way when they mean they don’t see how they can 
do a thing. It’s a particular expression of hers,” 
replied Layton impatiently. “ She knew that 
either Uncle Billy or I would have gone after 
her ” 

“I’d gone myself,” Obmuttered. 

“ If she’d said the word. No, she meant that, 
after all, my effort to make myself worthy of her 
had not made her forgive me for my past life. I 
waited for her letter — she said she’d write, re- 
member — but not a word has ever come from 
her.” 

“That do be cur’us. ’Tain’t a bit like gurl. 
Why ain’t yu out there findin’ out what ails her? 
Mebbe she be porely an’ can’t write the letter.” 

“ No, she is as well as usual. Uncle Billy has 
heard from her several times since then. I would 
go out any way, 01, were not the circumstances so 
complicated — so mixed up, I mean. I swore I 
would never ask her to marry me again after that 


The Professor’s Daughter 287 

Christmas day, and I never will. I have never laid 
myself at any woman’s feet to be walked over, and 
I never intend to ; besides, there is another 
man ” He hesitated. 

“Another one a-courtin’ of her?” asked 01 
eagerly, then added with slow determination : 
“Well, he sha’n’t have her while I’m alive. 
Who be he?” 

“ A celebrated preacher out there. Uncle Billy 
told me about him ” 

“ Nice bizness he were in,” remarked 01. 

“He only told me because he thought such in- 
formation would make me hurry out there, but it 
worked the other way. If Louise can prefer any 
man to me I want her to know her mind on the 
subject before marriage, not after. I had enough 
of that kind of thing before.” 

His mouth formed into a sneer, and his eyes 
reflected the expression in their blue depths. 

“I don’t believe nothin’ o’ the kind ’bout gurl. 
Where’d the boss git his information I’d like to 
know? I bet gurl never informed him ! ” 

“ No, of course not. He saw the man with her 
out there, and knew at a glance how things stood 
with him.” 

“ Oh, what foolishness ! Every man on airth 
allows everything wearin’ pants be lookin’ at his 
pa’tic’lar gurl. The boss hadn’t ought to said 
such a thing without gurl give him pa’tic’lar infor- 
mation. What if the preacher be courtin’ her? 
That ain’t no reason she be courtin’ him. I cal’- 
late yu ain’t the only one’s courted her.” 


288 The Professor’s Daughter 


^‘That’s so, 01, and what Uncle Billy said 
would never have affected me had she written 
some explanation of her refusal, as she said she 
would in the telegram. I have waited six months 
for a word from her, and am about ready to throw 
over the whole thing.” 

^‘Go back to them cocktails, yu mean?” asked 
01, taking out Mary Ann again and lighting her 
up. 

“ Not cocktails in particular, but the entire 
effort they symbolize — an effort made to please a 
woman who could demand that much, then make 
light of her own act and my endeavor by a careless 
consignment of me into her past without one word 
of regret.” 

Layton, for the moment unconscious of 01, had 
lapsed into introspective speech beyond the limits 
of the latter’s vocabulary. He pulled his hat 
down over his eyes and began his favorite occupa- 
tion, when by the water, of skimming stones or 
shells. 01 was silent, too; he was thinking, in- 
spired by Mary Ann. After a few moments he 
said slowly : 

A fellar can’t do any more’n tell yu what he’d 
cal ’late to do if he w’s like circumstanced. He 
can’t really never see the right o’ any bizness but 
his own. There be one thing certain, gurl ain’t 
in no way similar to that furst woman o’ yours. 
If she ever promised to holt to you fur marriage 
in case yu done what she said, she’ll stick to her 
word till Gabriel blows his trump, an’ after 
She’s by nacher similar to rock. It be tough work 


The Professor’s Daughter 289 

scratchin’ yu’re name on it, but once scratched 
there ain’t any man’s can rub it off. That be 
my ideas o’ gurl. Seems like she ought to ha’ 
writ that letter if she giv her word to. Sure she 
can see to write now? ” 

She can see to write to me as well as to Uncle 
Billy. That was one reason I told her to wire, be- 
cause I knew writing was bad for her eyes,” re- 
plied Layton. 

“ That be the livin’ truth — she could have writ 
to you ’s well ’s to the boss. It do beat lyin’ how 
unonderstandable women folks be. But if yu’d 
seen her look ’s I have, when talkin’ ’bout yu, yu’d 
go out there, letter ’r no letter, preacher ’r no 
preacher. ” 

“When did she look that way, 01? ” asked Lay- 
ton quickly. 

“More times ’n one. Doc. An’ I say yu go 
cruisin’ long out there, ’s though by accident, jus’ 
to see how she looks when she lays eyes on yu. 
Call to mind as how short a time she has to see yu 
in, if them things be really growin’ on her eyes, 
an’ yu’ll be sorry for pore gurl.” 

“No one can be more sorry for her than I am, 
01,” said Layton gently, drawing his hat farther 
down over his eyes. “ But this is the third time 
she has refused to marry me. Would you ask a 
woman again, after that? ” 

“No, I’ll be durned if I would,” replied 01, 
using the expletive belonging only to his most 
emphatic denials. “There ain’t no gurl alive 
wurth runnin’ after ’till yu lose yu’re breath. 

19 


290 The Professor’s Daughter 

Like ’s not I’d live all’ays to myself if I couldn’t 
catch up with the one I wanted mos’, but I’ll be 
durned if I’d let any woman folks buzz round me 
like a honeybee, never lightin’ long but cornin’ 
an’ goin’ to please itself. Not much, by Gui ! ” 

Layton, in all the years of his association with 
01, had never seen him display this amount of 
conversational energy, except upon the one subject 
of the phantom ship. He looked at the brown face 
once more resuming its habitual calm, and won- 
dered why 01 had never married. It seems to 
me that is about what all women do around you, 
01,” said Layton. “ They buzz and buzz around 
you, taking your sweetness of nature and giving 
you little enough in return. Aren’t you ever go- 
ing to marry? ” 

“ Land sakes, Everett ! ” replied 01, calling the 
Doctor by the name he had dropped out of respect 
to his friend’s new dignity when Layton first took 
his degree. Yu ain’t callin’ me honey now, be 
yu? Yu’re growin’ soft. Men as goes courtin’ 
all’ays gits that way, not jus’ with the gurl, but 
with all folks. ’Tain’t likely as I’ll ever marry. 
Yu said yu’ reself once there wa’n’t no gurl good 
’nough fur me, an’ they ain’t many angels flying 
round, so I cal ’late I’ll have to wait till I git to 
Heaven, an’ they say as folks don’t marry nohow 
up there, so my chance fur marryin’ seems pore, 
don’t it? Now yu jus’ hear me speak a spell; I’m 
talkin’ long to-day, but there be time an’ to spare, 
an’ the subject be wurth talkin’ ’bout. 

I ain’t the one to foller no gurl round same ’s 


The Professor’s Daughter 291 

a ole spiritless bull pup tied to a gurl’s chain I see 
in New York, but there ain’t many more gurls like 
gurl to be found than there be angels, an’ I say 
yu go straight ’s my rifle shoots out to that place 
where she be convertin’ sinners, an’ say, ^ I mean 
bizness, what do yu mean? ’ an’ yu’ll find gurl’s 
all right, if she do seem wrong this fur away. 
Yu can’t all’ ays tell a wakeup from a sparrow at 
long range, a-settin’ still, but jus’ let the wakeup 
peep an’ there’s a big diffunce. Yu don’t know 
nothin’ ’bout gurl at all till she talks, an’ silence 
ain’t goin’ to make her talk; so I say go, take 
the furst train out o’ Shannock to that place where 
all the folks appear to be preachers or revivalists 
a-convertin’, an’ mebbe yu’ll git some religion 
yu’reself while yu’re about it.” 

He paused, waiting for Layton to speak; but 
the Doctor, who had stretched himself on his back 
at full length, kept his hat drawn down well over 
his face and made no answer. After a while 01 
asked: Ain’t that comfortin’ advice. Doc?” 

Yes, it’s comforting enough, but I can’t take 
it, 01. I cannot go to her until she sends for me. 
Don’t let’s talk about it any more. It doesn’t do 
me a bit of good, after all. Where were you 
going?” 

Nowhere in pa’tic’lar. Any place yu’d like 
to go? ” 01 was evidently disappointed, but his 

manner was, as usual, accommodating. 

“Yes, I think I’d like a strong pull out to sea 
and an afternoon’s fishing — then I’ll go back to 
town.” 


292 The Professor’s Daughter 

“ As you say, Doc. We’ll go right along. The 
tide’s right to git back. The wind’s to the south- 
erd, but it’s shiftin’ east.” They got up and 
walked down to the camp. Layton helped with 
the preparations, and they were soon pulling to- 
gether out beyond the bar. Nothing more was 
said about Louise until the Doctor left that night, 
when 01 asked : “ Sure yu ain’t goin’ West, 
Doc?” 

Perfectly certain, Ol. I can’t go until I hear 
from her.” 

The next day 01 stopped in to see Melissa a 
moment Land o’ love!” exclaimed she. 

Where be yu goin’? Who’s dead or married, 
yu’re so slicked up? Goin’ Shannock way? ” 

Yes, I be,” replied 01, with assumed careless- 
ness. “ Goin’ farther — goin’ to try my luck a- 
fishin’ in them Western lakes. Timothy Whitby 
he asked me to go long o’ him a month ago jus’ 
fur a trip an’ experiunce, so I be a-goin’.” 

** I want to know 1 ” replied Melissa excitedly. 
** How fur be it out there? What’ll folks here do 
without you? ” 

‘‘ Out by Chicago somewheres,” replied 01. 
‘‘Tim knows. I ain’t had a trip fur ten years, 
an’ it’s ’bout time to be movin’ fur fear the barna- 
cles ’ll grow over my hulk. Oh, the folks '11 live 
till I git back.” 

“Chicago! Ain’t that where Miss Fremont’s 
stayin’ ? Be yu goin’ to see her? ” 

“ ’Tain’t likely I’d pass her by if she comes in 
my way. Be good to yu’ reself, Melissy. Don’t 


The Professor’s Daughter 293 

scold Sade, an’ I’ll bring yu back a presunt. So 
long.” 

“ 01 Peckham’s a born fool, runnin’ round after 
a woman like that ! ” thought Melissa, as he disap- 
peared around the house in the direction of the 
team he had left standing in the road. 


TWENTIETH CHAPTER 


• Louise Fremont sat in her room of an after- 
noon reading laboriously with the aid of a reading- 
glass. Presently she dropped both book and glass 
into her lap with a sigh. “ What is the use of 
trying to read this way?” she thought. “It is 
unsatisfactory, and my mind will wander. I seem 
to have lost all control over my thoughts.” Ris- 
ing, •she began to pace the room, reviewing her 
situation, and willing a change of thought, away 
from the one perplexing theme which persistently 
engrossed her mind. 

“ I will think no more of Everett Layton,” she 
declared aloud. “What is he to me now? O 
father, father. T wisii you could come back ! ” 

After walking * restlessly up and down for a 
while, she became more composed as she tried to 
decide upon plans for the approaching summer. 
She had no place to go, because there was no one 
to go with. Mrs. Strangemore could not get off 
until late in the season. What Louise wished to 
do was to spend some months at Weecapaug, in 
the outdoor life with Melissa and 01, but her pride 
told her that by doing so she would place herself 
in Doctor Layton’s way. 

“I’ll have to engage a companion to lead me 
about,” she muttered. “Think of it — you — 


The Professor's Daughter 295 

Louise Fremont — you who have wandered around 
all the great cities of the world alone, or protecting 
some one else! Eventually, I’ll get a dog to lead 
me about, like the blind beggar who stands at the 
corner. Thank Heaven, I shall not have to beg! 
I have money enough.” 

She swallowed the tears that were rising in her 
tightened throat as she heard a rap on the door of 
her room. On answering it, she found the maid 
standing there wearing a look between curiosity 
and laughter. 

“There’s a man down-stairs to see you. Miss 
Fremont,” she said. Louise’s heart leaped. 

“What kind of a man? ” she demanded. “Did 
he send up a card? ” 

“ He’s a queer- looking man — seems like a sailor 
— his face is as black, as a mulatto. He wouldn’t 
give a name, but said to tell you he was here and 
you’d know. ” 

“It’s 01 Peckham!” exclaimed Louise. “It 
must be he! Say I will be down in one mo- 
ment.” 

“ Dear old 01 ! What can he be doing away out 
here?” she thought, as she descended the stairs 
a few moments later. 01 sat on the edge of a 
carved teakwood chair. He twirled his hat in his 
hand, looking as he felt, misplaced in that draw- 
ing-room. There was the nervous, bewildered 
look in his eyes that always accompanied his 
metropolitan expeditions. 

“ 01 ! ” exclaimed Louise as she entered, hold- 
ing out her hand to him, “ is it really you ? I can 


296 The Professor’s Daughter 

hardly believe it yet! Where did you come 
from?” 

His face relaxed when he saw her enter, and he 
replied: “It be good to see yu, gurl. Yu be the 
furst decunt person I’ve saw in this land o’ cut- 
throats an’ heathen. Why, gurl, I don’t know’s 
I’d ’a’ come even to see yu if I’d a knowd the 
kind o’ place it were. Why, New York’s inner- 
cent’s a baby compared to it. ’Tain’t surprisin’ 
yu come out here convertin’, but I be afraid yu 
ain’t done much good.” 

“ Sit down, 01, and tell me all about it. 
Wouldn’t you like to come back into the library 
with me, where no people will come? We can 
talk better there.” 

“Just’s yu say. I’ve seen ’nough folks in the 
one mornin’ I’ve been in these parts to las’ me 
till I die. We don’t want no folks around nohow 
when we’re talkin’ ’bout the subject I’ve come on 
purpose to talk about.” 

She led the way into a retired library and closed 
the door after them. 

“When did you come, 01?” she asked, when 
they were both seated. 

“ We come late’n the afternoon yesta’day — Tim- 
othy Whitby ’n me. Come jus’ before night, an’ 
Tim he piloted me round consid’able after we took 
supper at a place close by the station-house where 
we arriv, an’ nasty ’nough victuals they wus, too. 
After supper nothin’ would do but Tim he mus’ 
go to the the-ay-tre, same’s all country Jakes come 
to town, an’ I mus’ go along. I didn’t come way 


The Professor’s Daughter 297 

out here to go to no the-ay-tres — there be plenty 
o’ them on the other side o’ the mountains. But 
Tim he mus’ all ’ays have his own way or bust, an’ 
that’s why I’m so late seein’ yu, gurl. I didn’t 
cal ’late ’twould be so long after I arriv. Then 
this mornin’ Tim would have it we mus’ walk 
round an’ see the country. Land sakes ! I seen 
’nough before I got through! My feet’s all 
swelled up from walkin’ on them pavements, an’ 
I’m ’bout deaf o’ noise. This afternoon Tim he 
allowed we’d go see some places where they stick 
an’ pack pigs, but my foot come down on that hard. 
Says I, ‘ Now, Tim, who’s runnin’ me, yu’r me? 
01 Peckham knows his own mind’s long’s he’s 
got one. I didn’t come all the way out here to see 
no pigs : I come on bizness o’ my own, better’n 
pigs. Yu can see pigs to hum, an’ I purpose to 
call on a lady out here this afternoon.’ 

“ ‘A lady! ’ says Tim. ^ Oh, if there be women 
folks in it. I’m out certain sure. Where be she? ’ 

“ ‘ Land only knows where she be in this wilder- 
ness,’ says I; ‘but mebbe a hackman’ll know’ 
(Doc says they all’ays does), an’ I jus’ called one 
goin’ by an’ got inside his hack an’ rid till he 
stopped at the number I give him — an’ here I be.” 

01 added the last with a sigh of relief, wiping 
his brow with a red silk handkerchief. Louise be- 
gan to feel cheerful — she almost laughed about the 
pigs. 

“ I am so glad to see you, 01 ! I must sit closer 
so that I can see you better,” she said, drawing 
her chair over to his side. 


298 The Professor’s Daughter 


“Be yu honest glad, gurl? Yu can’t be glad- 
der’ n I be to see yu. How’s the seein’ ? Bet- 
ter?” 

“ No, 01 ; it is no better. I could hardly see 
you when I sat over there.” 

“ Poor gurl ! ” said 01, with infinite pity in his 
eyes and tone. “It don’t seem reg’lar fur it to 
come to yu. Now, if it ’d been me ’twouldn’t 
make much diffrunce. I can’t read an’ write all 
them things yu does, an’ I don’t cruise round 
same’s yu, but it do seem a sin an’ shame it’s 
come to yu. I feel fur yu — I do feel fur yu, 
gurl.” 

“ Thank you, 01,” said Louise softly. “ I know 
you do feel for me as much as any one could. 
The very sight of you makes me better able to 
bear it. You always do cheer people up. I am 
so glad you did not pass me by on your way to the 
lakes. Where is it you are going? ” 

“That ain’t settled as yet. I’m not so eager 
’bout fresh-water fishin’ as some be. Tim he were 
cornin’ an’ wanted company, so I come along this 
fur along o’ him. About goin’ farther yu’ve got 
the say, gurl. Course yu know 01 Peckham ain’t 
no liar, but he knows as his bizness be his bizness, 
an’ when folks same’s Melissy takes to askin’ 
questions as she ain’t got no right to ask, I jus’ 
says, ' Oh, I’m goin’ fishin’,’ ’cause fishin ’s all’ays 
my bizness, no matter what be besides. I come 
out here a-purpose to see yu, gurl.” 

“All this distance! You are good to me, 01,” 
said Louise. 


The Professor’s Daughter 299 

‘‘Not in pa’tic’lar’s I know of. I w’s good to 
myself same’s yu’d be if yu’re own brother were 
in a peck o’ trouble, an’ yu ’lowed yu could help 
him, an’ be real glad o’ a chance. I ain’t got no 
brother’s I feel fur’s I do fur Doc, an’ it jus’ 
makes me sick to see him takin’ on so ’bout yu.” 

“ About me ? ” said Louise coldly, although her 
breath came faster. “Why should he take on 
about me ? ” 

“ Why ? Because he jus’ loves yu better ’n any- 
body, gurl, an’ he’s gittin’ a crack in his brain 
’cause yu ain’t treatin’ him square — anyway, he 
cal’lates yu ain’t. ” 

“ What does he say I have done to him ? ” asked 
Louise, looking at a book she was handling on a 
table near by. 

“ Do you allow yu be treatin’ him right, gurl ? ” 
was the only reply 01 made. 

“ Certainly I have treated him as well as I could. 
What does he object to in my treatment.^ ” 

“ He ain’t ’round talkin’ to folks ’bout yu, gurl; 
’tain’t his way to do that. I be the only one he 
ever speaks to ’bout things. While his woman 
were livin’ an’ treatin’ him shameful, he never 
spoke a word against her, even to me ; but him an’ 
me’s like brothers, only more so, an’ he’s got a 
way o’ thinkin’ I know more’n mos’ folks; course 
’tain’t so, but he thinks that way — an’ ever since 
we’s knee high to a duck he’s come to me fur con- 
sultations, as he names our talkin’s. Las’ Tues- 
day he come down to the beach an’ looked kinder 
desperite, same’s yu wouldn’t want to see him if 


300 The Professor’s Daughter 

yu’ve got any feelin’s in yu’re heart fur him. I 
be all’ays afeard o’ them cocktails an’ things when 
he speaks that way. Cocktails was in his father’s 
family — not the same’s in mine, so’s they didn’t 
hav’ no sense lef’, but jus’ sociable like — the kind 
’at’s liable to git worse in the sight o’ troubles.” 

Oliver looked steadily at Louise, watching the 
effect of his words, but she sat listening with her 
most unspeaking expression on her face. 

He went on. “ Doc tole me jus’ this, only my 
words ain’t the same’s his wus. He says The 
livin’ truth be, 01, I can’t live right without gurl. 
There ain’t no livin’ without her once a man sets 
his mind on her’ — the color slowly crept across 
Louise’s face. ‘ Here I be waitin’ fur a year and 
countin’ on marryin’ her las’ Christmas, ’cause I 
allowed her word were true’s Gospel, an’ I got all 
packed up an’ ready to travel out after her, an’ 
wanted to go so bad I couldn’t wait nohow to 
write, an’ ’twere bad fur her eyes to write, so I 
jus’ telegraphed her, say in’ I were ready to come, 
an’ what’d she do but go an’ answer as she 
couldn’t come, couldn’t see’s how she could do it, 
but she’d write about it ” 

“I never said I would write. I told him to 
write to me,” burst in Louise, excitement begin- 
ning to dilate the pupils of her eyes until they 
were nearly black beneath the film. 

“ Tole him to write to you } ” repeated 01 slowly. 
'‘He mus’ ha’ misunderstanded that, fur Doc he 
don’t tell no lies, an’ he said he’d been lookin’ 
fur yu’re letter fur six months, an’ he were losin’ 


The Professor’s Daughter 301 

all kind 0 ’ faith in yu’re word, specially ’s he kep’ 
his promise ’bout the cocktails, an’ yu didn’t keep 
yu’res ’bout the marryin’ part. Yes, he mus’ ha’ 
cal’lated wrong on that, jus’s I tole him folks was 
liable to do. Why couldn’t yu see yu’re way to 
doin’ it when the word come, gurl.? ” 

Why, Oliver, I should think you would know 
when you see how blind I have become. I cannot 
even go out on the streets alone. The disease 
was far along when I first went to him, and has 
progressed rapidly. I could not go to him any 
way. He ought to have come to me ” 

“ I tell yu, gurl, he were all ready to start, but 
yu didn’t say the word,” interrupted 01. 

“ I thought he would understand. I said at the 
end of my telegram, ^ write, ’ but that meant for 
him to write to me, as he did not say anything in 
his message about coming out. If you were a 
woman going blind, 01, would you be willing to 
go to a man, putting him in a place where he could 
not refuse to receive you, no matter how useless 
you were to him ” 

“ Oh, gurl,” again interrupted 01. “That ain’t 
no kind o’ talk. Yu don’t know Doc over well if 
yu cal’ late he’d go back on his word.” 

“ That is just it — he would not go back on his 
word, but would sacrifice himself to me, even if he 
did not love me now! ” exclaimed Louise. 

“ Well, I never did in the course o’ my hul life 
hear such foolishness between two growd up folks. 
If Doc wus still wearin’ short pants, an’ yu wus 
wearin’ yu’r hair in a pig-tail down yu’re back, a 


302 The Professor’s Daughter 

fellar’d allow to hear such talk from yu; but fur 
folks o’.yu’re time o’ life yu beat the hul caboodle 
a-talkin’ foolishness. He be a settin’ there in 
New York callin’ folks names cause yu didn’t 
write the letter, an’ it all comes o’ going too fast 
when there be plenty o’ time an’ to spare. Tele- 
graphin’ courtin’ ain’t my way, ’s I tole Doc, but 
it do seem’s though yu might ha’ answered some- 
thin’ plainer’n yu did. Why in the name o’ com- 
mon-sense didn’t yu answer, ‘ Come right along,’ 
an’ talk it out.^ The ways o’ city folks be long- 
winded an’ foggy, to my way o’ thinkin’. There 
ain’t no fellar out here yu’ve got more feelin’ fur 
than Doc, be there, gurl } ” 

“Out here.^ A man I care more for.^ No. 
What made you ask that ^ ” replied Louise, who 
had been thinking fast while he talked, but was 
roused to astonishment at his inquiry. 

“Oh, nothin’,” said 01 carelessly. “Women 
folks be slippery, yu know. There ain’t never no 
tollin’ when the wind’s ’bout to shift, same’s a 
no’theaster. Then there ain’t no reason, ’s I can 
see, fur yu’re not packin’ up an’ goin’ right back 
’long o’ me to-morrow. Yu go to the boss in 
Shannock, an’ I’ll see’s Doc knows yu be there an’ 
waitin’ fur him, an’ tell him how them fool wires 
got twisted somehow. Don’t matter much how, 
long’s everybody’s made up again.” 

“ Oliver,” said Louise, looking straight into his 
eyes, “did Doctor Layton send you out here.^ ” 

“ Land sakes, no. He don’t know nothin’ ’bout 
my cornin’. Nobody don’t know but Melissy, an’ 


The Professor's Daughter 303 

only her ’cause she see me passin’ the house 
dressed up an’ asked where be I goin’. We’ll 
never tell nobody I come, gurl; but yu go back 
’long o’ me to-morrow, an’ folks’ll allow’s I’ve 
been long o’ Doc in New York. ’Tain’t none o’ 
their bizness, nohow.” 

“ Do I understand you to say, 01, that Doctor 
Layton was all ready to come out here last Christ- 
mas, but thought my telegram meant that I refused 
him, but would write a letter explaining.^ ” 

“That’s ’bout the size o’ it, gurl. Wa’n’t it 
too bad } All this time wasted, an’ that house he 
bought fur yu in New York losin’ rent right 
along.” 

“ What house } Did he really buy a house for 
me.^” Leaning forward, she put this question 
eagerly, trying not to smile. 

“Course he did — ’long side o’ all them swells 
— an’ it’s standin’ there waitin’ fur yu, lonely’s a 
winter night, without no fire warmin’ folks.” 

“I’ll go, Oliver,” said Louise quickly and de- 
cisively. “ What time does the train start? ” 

“Gui! I don’t know nothin’ ’bout it; but 
Tim, he’ll find out fur us, an’ we’ll be ready soon’s 
it be.” 

“ But, 01, I forgot — you came out to go fishing, 
and you ought to see something of Chicago while 
you are out here.” 

“Fishin’I” exclaimed 01, in disdain. “Ain’t 
there’s good fish’s ever was caught in the ocean? 
Folks don’t have to come out here fur fishin’, an’ 
I don’t want no more o’ Chicago than I’ve got 


304 The Professor’s Daughter 


a’ ready. There be sinners enough to see to hum, 
’s well’s fish to be ketched. Yu jus’ git ready, 
gurl, an’ we’ll start’s soon’s the train’s ready.” 

“ Oliver, how can I ever thank you for all you 
have done for me.? You saved my life, and now 
you save my happiness.” 

“Shucks! there ain’t no cause for thanks.” 
01 looked bashful right away, and remembered his 
hands and feet, as was always the case with him 
when gratitude was proffered. “ Don’t you s’ pose 
I be real happy myself to do anything fur yu an’ 
Everett Layton .? He’s jus’ everything to me. If 
I’d ’a’ took the learnin’ he tried his bes’ to give 
me when we wus both boys. I’d a know’d some- 
thin’ now; but seems like I wa’n’t intended for 
book learnin’, for the only thing I ever could learn 
’bout wus fishin’, an’ farmin’, an’ rowin’, an’ 
sailin’, an’ ’bout birds an’ trees. O’ course, some 
folks consider that ain’t knowin’ much, but’s 
long’s it suits me they ain’t no right to complain. 
But there be a thing you could give me, gurl, jus’ 
to remember yu by.” 

Ol’s eyes looked suddenly misty, and he batted 
his “ winkers ” hastily several times. 

“What can I give you, 01?” asked Louise. 
“Anything I have is yours for the asking.” 

“Now, gurl, yu be jus’ same’s Doc — goin’ too 
fur in yu’re statements all’ays. It’s a way 0 ’ 
folks. I don’t want no big thing — any way ’tain’t 
big in size, but it’d all ’ays be big to me, an’ I 
cal ’late Doc wouldn’t mind, bein’ s it be jus’ me 
askin’ fur it.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 305 

“But what is it, 01? ” asked Louise again, sur- 
prised at his hesitancy. 

“Do yu rec’lect the little locket yu give me, 
hangin’ on my watch chain?” he asked, looking 
down and handling the locket. 

“Yes, I remember. Have you some one’s pic- 
ture in it now, 01?” asked Louise, smiling 
slightly. 

“ No, I ain’t got no piccher there, an’ don’t want 
none; but if yu’d cut off one o’ them curls as 
kinks up next yu’r ears in damp weather, an’ give 
it to me, it’d ’bout fill this locket fur life. I see 
one o’ ’em curlin’ up now. They all ’ays was so 
cute — same’s a baby.” 

Louise laughed as she replied; “Why, cer- 
tainly, 01. I think I could afford to give you that 
much in return for life and happiness. I’ll get a 
pair of scissors and cut it off now, for fear it might 
get out of kink.” 

“ ’Tain’t wuth while — I’ve got my knife in my 
pocket. I all ’ays carries it. Yu set still an’ I’l} 
do the shavin’.” He produced a large pocket- 
knife she had seen him use for pretty much every 
requirement of his vocation, then laid his hat on 
the table, and walked over behind her chair. 

“Set right still, gurl,” he almost whispered. 
“ I won’t hurt yu, an’ it’ll only take a minute. 
Seem’s though the curl’d be more like havin’ yu 
then a piccher’d be — picchers ain’t real things.” 

Louise felt again that swift wonder and sad sus- 
picion she had experienced once before at Weeca- 
paug, but she sat perfectly quiet, and 01 said noth- 
20 


306 The Professor’s Daughter 

ing while he severed the little curl. As he stood 
there, he leaned over and kissed lightly the thick 
knot of hair near the little curls, but she could not 
feel that, and never knew of the act; then he 
turned his back to her, rubbing the corner of his 
red silk handkerchief over his eyes. 

^‘Did it come off all right?'’ asked Louise. 
“ May I turn around now? ” 

“Yes, I got it,” he replied, in a low, thick 
voice. “Jus’ wait a minute. Don’t bother to 
move. I be puttin’ it in the locket — jus’ to re- 
member yu by, yu know. I ain’t got no sister, 
an’ Doc’s gurl be the next bes’ thing. There, it’s 
in all right, an’ nobody ain’t ever goin’ to see it 
again but me — not even Doc. Do you s’ pose he’d 
mind, gurl? ” 

01 took his seat opposite her again, showing 
his ordinary calm expression, although he looked 
a trifle anxious as he asked that question. 

“ He’d be perfectly foolish if he did, 01. I am 
your sister now, and will be more so if I am ever 
his wife. Anyway, it would make no difference if 
he did; this is something entirely between you 
and me. If that small token can compensate you 
for all you have done for me, no one has a right to 
object.” 

“Mustn’t say ’twon’t make no diffunce ’bout 
Doc, though, ’cause he’s goin’ to be yu’re man, 
an’ men folks has got a right to say ’bout their 
women; but I cal ’late Doc won’t care nothin’ 
’bout a little bit o’ hair. Now, when be we goin’ ? 
To-morrow mornin’ or night, which? ” 


The Professor’s Daughter 307 

“ I will send and find out about the trains. 
Meanwhile, you must come back into the parlor, 

and let me call my friend, Mrs. ” 

“ Land sakes ! Some more folks ! Well, I 
cal’ late I’m equal to one or two more, if they ain’t 
sinners,” and 01 laughed with his eyes as he fol- 
lowed Louise, keeping one hand on the locket. 


TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER 


Doctor Layton had worked hard all the morn- 
ing. His office-hours were over, but there were 
still patients waiting for him. Although it was 
nearly two o’clock in the afternoon, he had not 
eaten since eight in the morning, and he felt a 
great weariness of mind, soul, and body. 

He worked on until the last patient was dis- 
posed of, then he threw himself down into a large, 
leather office-chair in front of a table, folded his 
arms on it, and dropped his head forward on them 
— an attitude of rest familiaj with him. He sat 
thus motionless for perhaps ten minutes ; then the 
bell rang, and he impatiently muttered something 
which might have been an oath had it been dis- 
tinct enough to be intelligible. In a moment 
there came a tap on the door of the consulting- 
room in which he sat. 

“ What isit? ” he demanded, without raising his 
head. 

“A lady to see you. Doctor,” said Jennie’s voice 
outside. 

“ Ugh ! ” he exclaimed. “ I can’t stand another 
woman to-day. Come in.” Jennie entered. 

“ Who is she? ” he asked. 

“ She didn’t give any name. Doctor. She said 
to tell you she could wait. She came in a car- 
riage, and it’s waiting for her outside.” 


The Professor’s Daughter 309 

“ Did you ever see her before? ” 

“ Not as I remember. Still there’s a familiar 
look about her,” replied the young maid, trying to 
remember. She saw that Doctor Layton was in a 
bad humor — something he had shown so rarely 
until lately that she hardly knew how to deal with 
him in its presence. 

“Well, tell her she’ll have to wait until I am 
ready to see her, or come again. I’m nearly 
starved and tired to death. I’ll ring when I’m 
ready for her if she waits — if she doesn’t, come 
back and tell me, and I’ll take my time. Did you 
get that milk ready for me? ” 

“Yes, Doctor. It’s here in the pitcher. Shall 
I bring it to you, and the bread and butter? ” 

“Yes. Bring them.” 

Jennie did so, then started to return to the p?.- 
tient, when Layton called her back. “Jennie! ” 

“Yes, Doctor.” 

“ When you get her settled, go up-stairs to my 
room, and on the shelf of my closet, on the left- 
hand side, you’ll see a row of bottles. There is 
one labelled whiskey, and one bitters. Bring 
them to me. The other things I want are down 
here.” 

“Yes, sir.” And with a regretful look at Doc- 
tor Layton, Jennie went out. 

Like every one who came under him, Jennie’s 
admiration for Layton amounted wellnigh to wor- 
ship. His mixture of strength and gentleness 
never failed to attract his inferiors. Though Jen- 
nie was but a young girl, she felt a maternal re- 


310 The Professor’s Daughter 

gret when seeing him so tired, and especially at 
his first return to ‘^the bracer,” after a year and 
a half’s abstinence — so far as she knew. She, 
like 01, abhorred alcohol in any form, because she 
had suffered from its effect upon a worthless 
father. 

In a few moments, she returned with the bot- 
tles and the information that the lady would wait. 
Then she left him alone. 

Layton drank his glass of milk and ate his bread 
and butter, after which, pushing them aside, he 
got out another glass and more bottles. 

“I’ll mix a Manhattan and drink it to her 
health,” he muttered aloud — “to the health of the 
woman who flirts with reform. There never was 
the slightest sense in my taking a pledge, because 
total abstinence is not temperance, but every 
man’s an ass when he gives all of himself to a 
woman. But I did it to please her — I’d have 
turned parson, too, to please her. She couldn’t 
see her way to do it, after all ! She could have 
seen better had not the Chicago parson stood 
in her light! I was not the only man, after 
all!” 

He laughed sneeringly as he stood mixing the 
cocktail, muttering to himself: “I’m so done up 
to-day I’ll have to sit down to this. Where’s my 
corkscrew? For the life of me, I can’t remember. 
Isn’t there one in that silver knife somebody gave 
me last Christmas? It’s here in my vest pocket, 
I believe.” 

He felt for the corkscrew, bringing out with it 


The Professor’s Daughter 3 1 1 

several small articles, among them a gold chain. 
“There’s the chain that bound me to her like the 
dogs attached to the fashionable girls on the avenue 
taking a constitutional. I took mine — a long one, 
lasting a year and a half.” He stood perfectly 
silent for a moment, looking down at his hands. 
One held the chain, the other the drink. He 
slowly raised the glass toward his lips, but his eyes 
were sealed to the gold links in his other hand. 
His jaw quivered as if a chill were coming on. 
Suddenly he dropped the glass to the floor at his 
feet, raised the chain to his lips, and with a low, 
painful cry, “Louise! Louise! I cannot!” he 
vSank into his chair again, laying his head on his 
arms. Thus he sat motionless for a time, breath- 
ing hard, with the chain pressed against his mouth. 
Gradually his body relaxed. The arm of the hand 
holding the chain stretched itself out. He closed 
and opened his hand over the token, as if he were 
alternately clinging and letting go. 

During this automatic action, he unconsciously 
touched the electric bell with his hand. 

Immediately he heard voices in the hall remind- 
ing him of the patient. 

“That woman! I forgot her!” he exclaimed, 
pushing the broken glass under the table with his 
foot. 

“ Thank you,” said a voice outside. “ I can see 
now; it was so dark in the hall. You were kind 
to help me.” 

“It’s Louise!” thought Layton, glancing at 
the bottles. “It certainly was Louise’s voice! 


3 1 2 The Professor’s Daughter 

Louise! ” he called, moving quickly to meet her as 
Jennie closed the door. 

“Everett! Are you there? I have come to 
you! I could not stay away! ” Louise, standing 
there in her travelling clothes, held out her hands 
to him. 

He made no further motion toward her, but 
stood still — doubt, regret, joy mingling in the ex- 
pression of his face. “ Have you been waiting in 
there all this time? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” she replied, dropping her hands. “I 
told the maid I would wait ” 

“ How could I know it was you? What have 
you come for? You said you would not, and have 
never written why.” 

“ Oh, Everett, it was all a mistake. Don’t you 
see how bad my eyes have grown? I cannot see 
your face where you stand now. That was what I 
meant in the telegram — I meant, literally, that I 
could not travel alone, and you must come for me ; 
and ‘ write ’ meant for you to write. I expected a 
letter from you on Christmas morning. When 
nothing came, my heart nearly broke ; then in the 
excitement of answering your telegram, I suppose 
I was not explicit. 01 says that is the way you 
felt about it.” 

“01! How did he tell you that? He never 
writes letters.” 

“ No, but he came all the way out to Chicago 
and brought me back to you ” 

“ God bless 01 ! ” exclaimed Layton. 

“ I was so glad, Everett, when your telegram 


The Professor’s Daughter 3 1 3 

came ! — so glad I did not know how to answer it — 
I am not used to them, as you are. And I have 
waited and waited for you to come or to send word 
all these months. If 01 had not come I never 
should have seen you again, because a woman al- 
most blind must wait even more than other 
women ” 

“ Louise! ” Layton exclaimed, his face transfig- 
ured. “My dearest! Are you sure of yourself? 
Is it true that you have come to stay with me ? 
Come here, if it is.” 

He held out his arms, and Louise walked 
straight into them. But suddenly he dropped 
them, saying : “ I forgot. It is too late — you 
came a half hour too late. The beast in me was 
almost too strong when left alone.” 

“What do you mean, Everett?” she asked, 
looking at him in fear of his words. 

“Come over here and I will show you.” He 
led her to the table, indicating the bottle with his 
free hand. “ I kept my word, even to this small 
part, until you were in my house once more. I 
was deadly tired — I had lost faith and courage. I 
mixed a cocktail for the first time since the Christ- 
mas at Uncle Billy’s. But I could not drink it, 
dear. I touched the chain ; you seemed to come 
to me — I felt your arms about my neck — I could 
not do it. ” 

But Louise, holding on to the lapels of his coat 
with both hands, and forcing him to look into her 
eyes, asked : “ Is that all, Everett ? Every single 
thing? ” 


314 The Professor's Daughter 

“ Everything, as I love you,” he murmured, look- 
ing the truth he spoke. 

“Then it is just the same. I have come just 
the same. I have learned to know and forgive, 
dear. My life out there has taught me to see 
plainer, even though I am going blind. Each 
hath his own sin and sorrow, to be cured only by 
love. I am better fitted to be your wife now than 
before I went away ” 

He stopped her by suddenly taking her into his 
arms, murmuring: “My wife! my angel wife,” as 
he kissed her mouth and every other available spot 
on her face. “ ‘ To err is human, to forgive di- 
vine.’ Take off your hat, dearest, I can’t see you 
with it on, and sit down here beside me on the 
sofa. Have you been travelling.^ You must be 
tired. Come, tell me all about it. I know only 
one thing — the best thing — that you love me — 
otherwise you would not be here. Are the eyes 
really so much worse } The opacity must have in- 
creased with unusual rapidity. It will soon be 
cataracta maturay ready for extraction.” 

“ Or, as the doctor in Chicago says, it may not 
go any farther for a long time to come. Do not 
entertain false hopes, Everett. You are taking a 
blind incumbrance into your life. If I did not 
love you so, I could not accept the sacrifice ” 

“Hush, dearest; never say that word again. I 
will repeat for the last time that sacrifice bears no 
part in my love for you. Sacrifice means the re- 
linquishment of the desired object. I want noth- 
ing but you, so where is the sacrifice ? Even if I 


The Professor’s Daughter 315 

knew you were going into incurable darkness, you 
would be to me the one woman — the only wife for 
me. I love to give. It is no merit in me, be- 
cause it is my pleasure, and my guidance through 
the misty years could never balance all you will do 
for me, nor the joy your very presence gives me. 
Why, Louise, I’ve been made over since you came 
into the room. I must be like the actor who 
needs his audience as an incentive to his best 
efforts. I was never meant to live for myself — I 
was meant to live for you, Louie, dear. Now tell 
me when you reached New York; but first prom- 
ise you will never again use that word sacrifice 
between us, unless by way of punishment. Prom- 
ise right away, and be quick about it, because I 
want to hear the rest. ” 

“ I promise, Everett,” replied Louise, almost in- 
audibly. “You overpower me, as you always 
have done; but my promise is my law, and you 
may depend upon it that, no matter how much I 
think about your generosity and devotion, I shall 
never express it again in that way.” 

“That is right. But it would be better still 
never to waste thought in that direction. Now 
tell me,” he said, taking off her gloves, as though 
he meant it to be understood that she belonged to 
him. 

“ Well, after dear old 01 came out there and ex- 
plained things, he would not see Chicago, nor go 
lake fishing with some man he travelled out with. 
He insisted upon bringing me East by the first 
train. He had arranged for me to go to Shannock 


3i 6 The Professor’s Daughter 


this morning, while he was to come here and talk 
to you; but when we arrived at eight o’clock I 
couldn’t go on after ' the foolishest mix-up ’ 01 
says he ever heard of. I was afraid to trust any 
one but myself to see you, and as long as I had 
promised to come long ago, I came and left 01 
looking for a new net at a big shop where they 
make them. He said he could find his way here, 
then we would take the afternoon train to Shan- 
nock. I have telegraphed Uncle Billy I am com- 
ing. Can’t you go down with me ? ” 

** No, sweetheart, you must not tempt me, for I 
can’t go and leave a poor stone-cutter at the hos- 
pital, whose left eye has to be operated on to-mor- 
row. You understand, Louise, don’t you?” he 
added anxiously. “You surely understand that I 
would not leave you for any professional work that 
meant only money; but this poor fellow hasn’t a 
cent put by, and he has about ruined one eye by a 
chip from a block. I promised my services for to- 
morrow to him — after that I am yours to com- 
mand. I’ll follow you down there and stay a day 
or two — yes, even a week — after that is over. You 
do understand, don’t you? ” 

“Yes, Everett, of course I understand. Don’t 
think I am unresponsive because I am jealous of 
your nobility. I am silent in wonder that I could 
have failed to see this great light in your nature, so 
overshadowed was it to me by your imperfections. 
It must make you feel very good to be naturally so 
kind, doesn’t it? ” 

“Nonsense! That is where your trouble lies. 


The Professor’s Daughter 317 

Louise — before you saw me all bad ; now you see 
me all good. I’m neither one nor the other. I’m 
just the ordinary man, without any great perfec- 
tions, with many shortcomings, but with no black 
sins. But it doesn’t make a bit of difference what 
I am as long as you love me.” 

“ It does to me,” she replied earnestly. It 
makes a great deal of difference. All the rest of 
our lives you are going to be the Doctor Layton I 
know, not the Doctor Layton New York knows. 
Father would be so glad if he could see us, dear. 
He thought a great deal of you.” 

I am proud to know that, Louise. You can 
always trust a man a long ways when older men 
like your father have any respect for him. I 
think better of myself when you tell me that. 
You can continue the reform movement on me for 
many years to come, my dearest philanthropist. 
Did you find your vocation out there? ” he asked 
teasingly. 

“No, I did not. Unfortunately, I have not the 
influence over numbers of people that you and 
Mrs. Strangemore have. I can only influence a 
few, while all of those who come in contact with 
you feel your power.” 

“ Why, my child, I never tried to convert any- 
body in my life! ” he exclaimed, laughing. 

“ You do not have to try ; you succeed uncon- 
sciously, Everett, just as 01 does. There is one 
thing I wish to do. There is a little waif out 
there whom I love devotedly. She brought more 
vision into my life than even Mrs. Strangemore 


31 8 The Professor’s Daughter 

did. I would like to educate her, and assist her 
to help herself later on — if you do not object.” 

‘‘Object! Hardly! We’ll endow a foundling 
hospital on our wedding day, if that would gratify 
you.” 

“No, I only wish to help little Nellie or any 
one else who comes directly in my way, as you do. 
I am not fitted for the life Mrs. Strangemore leads. 
Isn’t that your bell ? Perhaps it is 01 — and I must 

“ I can’t let you go yet ! What ! Only one 
minute together, after all this time ! I’ll go out 
and see,” replied Layton, rising. “ How shall we 
ever thank 01, Louise? ” 

“We never can, except by our friendship,” she 
replied gently. “ Ol’s is too fine a nature to de- 
sire much in the way of reward.” 

Layton met Jennie coming down the hall. 
“ Who is it? ” he asked. “ Is it 01 Peckham? ” 

“Yes, sir,” said Jennie, trying not to laugh as 
she attempted to imitate Ol. “ He said, ‘ Tell 
Doc there’s time’n to spare — there ain’t no rush. 
I’ll catch my breath while he’s mootchin’. ’ What 
does ‘ mootchin’ ’ mean. Doctor? ” 

“ Oh, it’s one of his country expressions. I’ll 
see him at once,” replied Layton. 

01 sat with his hat on, holding in one hand a 
small paper bag, from which he was eating win- 
tergreen and peppermint lozenges and chocolate 
drops. 

“ Have some? ” was all he said by way of salu- 
tation to Layton, offering the bag. “ I never al- 


The Professor’s Daughter 319 

lowed to find any good candy in this town same’s 
I git in Shannock, but I seen this in a little bake- 
shop, an’ got it quick. It be good. Better have 
some. ” 

He was observing Layton with his slow gaze, 
which covered great depths of penetration. 
“ S’pose there be ’nough sweet things round fur 
yu now without eatin’ candy. Candy be all the 
sweet things I’ve got, ’n I buy lots o’ it fur com- 
fort. Yu’re lookin’ sort o’ diffrunt from what you 
was las’ week. I cal’late I brung you a bracer.” 

‘‘You did, 01. Shake hands on it, won’t you? 
You have done so much for me all my life, but 
this makes the debt larger than I can ever re- 
pay ” 

“Shucks,” interrupted 01. “Take a pep’mint 
and hush yu’re talk. Talkin’s cheap when there 
ain’t nothin’ to talk ’bout. Where’s gurl? That 
train’ll be goin’ along without us in it if we tad- 
pole around here long. ” 

“ Back in the office. Come on back there, then 
I will see you off. It is only a short ride to the 
station,” said Layton. 

“ I cal’late yu feel like a sunny day inside, don’t 
yu. Doc? ” asked 01 as he got up. 

“Yes, like a summer full of them,” replied 
Layton, turning to look at his friend again. 

“ Then ’twere more’n wuth Avhile. We’ll shake 
hands an’ never say no words ’bout it no more.” 
01 held out his hand, which Layton wrung in 
his strong grasp, then without another word 01 
followed him down the hall. 


320 The Professor’s Daughter 


When 01 saw Louise, he walked toward her, 
smiling genially as he remarked: Found the 
place all right, did yu, gurl? Them hackmen 
oughter be made Presidents, they know so much. 
Have a pep’mint, gurl? Womenfolks alPays likes 
’em, same’s I do.” 

Louise took one, to please him, and he con- 
tinued : “ I traipsed round every wheres — all round 
the airth, seemed like, gittin’ that net, but I run 
it to airth at las’, an’ here I be. It’s nachrel’s 
life to be all together again, ain’t it? ” His eyes 
lit on the bottles on the table, and his tone changed 
to gravity as he asked : “ Doc, what be them things 
standin’ there? Yu ain’t broke yu’re agreement, 
ha’ yu? ” 

‘‘Not quite, Ol. I just missed doing it. You 
brought her just in time,” replied Layton, looking 
conscious. 

“ I’d ha’ been real sorry if yu’d done it, ’cause I 
know what the meanin’ o’ them things be if kep’ 
up stiddy; an’ if a fellar’s likes ’em once makes a 
beginnin’, he be likely not to know when to stop. 
If there’s any thankful feelin’s in yu. Doc, 'bout 
my bringin’ back gurl to yu, yu’ll show ’em by let- 
tin’ them cocktails be. Plain whiskey be bad 
’nough, but they ain’t fit fur the stommics o’ pigs, 
let alone a man’s.” 

“ We’ll try to show our gratitude to Ol that 
way, won’t we. Doctor Layton?” asked Louise, 
looking at her lover. 

“Yes, we will. If a man couldn’t give up that 
much to his two best friends, he doesn’t deserve 


The Professor’s Daughter 321 

them. No more cocktails, 01, as long as we all 
live,” replied Layton, taking Louise’s hand as he 
sat beside her. 01, ‘ girl ’ is going to be my 
wife, and I am a proud man.” 

“That be as it should be,” 01 replied, holding 
the candy bag open in his hand. “ Them that be 
suited belongs together — jined together, the 
preacher says when he hitches ’em — an’ a man 
ought to feel like a President when he knows’s 
he’s got gurl fur life. She ain’t no common sort, 
as I’ve tole yu before, an’ the man as gits her can’t 
be proud ’nough. Marryin’ be nachrel, an’ the 
bes’ way fur mos’ folks ; but when it ain’t bes’, 
it’s mighty bad — worse’n drivin’ cattle an’ mules 
together. Folks had ought to use each other 
square, an’ not be bilin’ over ’bout all them little 
things folks can’t help a doin’ this side o’ King- 
dom come. I all’ays ’lowed if they’d think ’bout 
the other real hard, an’ not all the time ’bout their- 
selves, there wouldn’t be no divorce bizness goin’ 
on. Well, we mus’ be movin’ if we’re goin’ to 
Shannock to-day. The boss’ll be all spunked up 
by the news, won’t he? Yu’re Uncle Billy lays 
great store by yu both. Cal’late I’ll jes’ go in the 
front room a minute or two an’ finish eatin’ this 
candy. Yu two’ll find plenty to do without me 
that long.” 

01 went out, and they stood together for a few 
moments before they drove with him to the sta- 
tion. 

The distant connection of Doctor Layton’s first 
21 


322 The Professor’s Daughter 

wife remarked, when she heard of his second mar- 
riage : What ! Everett Layton married that ici- 
cle! I understand now why she flared up so that 
time when I told her father the truth about him. 
I don’t doubt but she was the cause of all of Ma- 
bel’s unhappiness while she lived, and I shall not 
hesitate to say so.” 

Even many of Doctor Layton’s friends wonder 
among themselves how a woman with such a spirit- 
tielle face and general upliftedness of disposition and 
tastes could have married a worldly man like him ; 
but at the same time they confess how beautiful is 
his devotion to his wife, with whom, to this day, 
he walks or drives every afternoon between the 
hours of four and six, regardless of other demands 
upon his time. They will never understand how 
he could neglect one wife so flagrantly, and bestow 
almost exaggerated devotion upon another — even 
an afflicted one, like the second Mrs. Layton. 

What would our friends do if they did not have 
the outside of us to pepper! Earth would be 
Heaven, or some other unfamiliar place, and the 
regular scheme might be thwarted if they were 
deprived of their privileges. No, that would never 
do. Friendly remarks passed along relative to our 
conduct are like medicines of the homoeopathic 
school; it takes poison to antidote poison. No 
doubt, some day we shall learn to be adequately 
grateful. 

It verges upon the pathetic to see Doctor and 
Mrs. Layton taking their afternoon walk together, 
although they live too entirely for each other to be 


The Professor's Daughter 323 

self-conscious. The cataract is not yet ripe for 
operation; it seems to progress by stages, but 
Layton does his best to make his wife forget that 
‘‘the glory” of vision is no longer hers. As she 
takes his arm when they walk, her eyes appear 
less dim, for the light of her love shines through 
the increasing opacity. They both have the 
comfort of hope; they know that some day she 
will see again. They built a cottage at Wee- 
capaug, not far from Melissy’s, where Louise 
spends her summers with Uncle Billy, Doctor 
Layton running down as often as he can, and 
Uncle Billy is a happier man than he has been 
in many years. 

Melissa has never found “a partner,” but she 
still smiles. Sade now rests in the family bury- 
ing-ground, waiting, as she used to say, “ fur the 
one an’ only trump I’m liable to hear — Gabriel’s,” 
but Melissa has never hired other help — she “ al- 
lows she ain’t so rich nor han’some’s anybody’d 
steal or murder her, livin’ alone.” 

01 and Mary Ann move picturesquely on 
through life. His hair shows gray, but the young 
look on his face never changes. Facial expression 
is only an index to the heart, and his organ of life 
never grows old nor loses its natural joyous imma- 
turity. He said the other day, when some one 
asked him why he had never married : 

“ Land sakes ! What more does a fellow like 
me want’n Mary Ann an’ fishin’? If a fellar’s 
got all he wants, seems like other folks needn’t be 
wantin’ things fur him. When the right gurl 


324 The Professor’s Daughter 

comes along, I cal’ late to marry, an’ not before. 
It be easier to hitch than unhitch.” 

When the children playing on the sand at the 
foot of the dunes ask him to open his little gold 
locket and let them see inside, he says good-hu- 
moredly: Couldn’t do it fur nothin’. My for- 
tune’s locked up in there, an’ it might spill out if 
I w’s to open it.” 

But there are many times when he does open 
the locket, alone with Mary Ann, and once in a 
long while 01 Peckham sighs. 


THE END 



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